


These Nights Never Seem To Go To Plan

by stophookingatmeswan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Blowjobs, Captain Swan AU - Freeform, Consensual Sex, Drinking, Dry Humping, F/M, Kidnapping, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mention of Minor Character Death, Mentions of Mental Illness, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-07-16 12:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 70,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7268326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stophookingatmeswan/pseuds/stophookingatmeswan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Emma Swan meets Killian Jones, he's a mix of sass, sex and hot mess. As their lives start to intertwine professionally, they're drawn together personally but their pasts keep getting in the way. A Captain Swan Police AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

She came out here to think. To think, to muse, to seethe. From the outside looking in, a sheriff who is supposed to be patrolling on the night shift pulled over to the side of the road at the town line, scowling at everything and nothing while she mutters to herself may look irresponsible. But Emma Swan knows her town. It’s sleepy. 

(And Grumpy and Dopey, and if those two idiots whose real names escape her at the moment get drunk at The Rabbit Hole for the umpteenth time and start some shit, she knows it will take her exactly four minutes to get to the scene by breaking every speed limit with calculated risk.) 

Speaking of speed limits…

The motorcycle raced past her so fast she barely had time to curse the interruption of her already curse-laden train of thought before a braking taillight illuminated the entire tree-lined road behind her.

“Too late, asshole.” With a grin, Emma switched on her headlights, flipped on her flashers and swung a U-turn, ready for whatever manner of entertainment the speeding rider was going to provide.

To her disappointment, the bike was already pulled over a short way down the darkened road. Annoyed to be denied the pleasure of a chase, she pulled up behind him, putting the cruiser in park and a take no shit swagger in her step as she took stock.

Head-to-toe black. Black boots. Black leather pants that hugged well-toned calves and a stellar ass if the beam from her Maglite was painting an accurate portrait. Black leather jacket. And a black custom helmet intricately painted in a pirate motif, complete with “Captain” scrolled across the back, entwined in the sails of a spectacular ship. A mirrored visor hid his face.

“License, registration and proof of insurance.”

Tongue impatiently in cheek, she waited slightly on guard for the rider to comply. Putting his hands up in surrender first, a gloved hand unzipped the jacket far enough to allow him to pull a small bundle from an inner pocket. Before he handed the items over, a muffled voice spoke over the sound of her idling cruiser. 

“I trust it’s agreeable that I remove my helmet, Sheriff?”

Emma grabbed the proffered documents with a slight huff because who the hell talks like that?

“Oh, we are definitely in agreement, Mr…” she moved her flashlight beam over the insurance card to catch the name. “Jones. And you may as well get off, too.”

The chuckle that came from him went from muted to booming as his chin cleared the helmet. 

“I assure you, love, I am always willing to get off at the command of a lass as beautiful as yourself.” A long leg swung over the back end of the motorcycle as he dismounted, tapping the name on the back of the helmet before putting it on the vacated seat. “And there should be a Captain in there somewhere.”

It sounded infinitely more dirty than it should.

What the fuck? Dealing with a jackass with flowery language, a penchant for innuendo and no respect for her town or its speed laws was NOT the fight she thought she’d be facing tonight, but she was game. Squaring her shoulders, she faced Jones head on to tell him a little something about himself (and her.)  

_I’m not your love._

_How about you go get yourself off?_

_There will be precisely ZERO Captain in anything_.

But the words momentarily died on her tongue. As he turned to face her, Emma could see he was seriously attractive. Eyes were a glittering blue, even in the sharp shadows created by her Maglight and the headlights of her car. High cheekbones made him look both refined and dangerous. His tongue somehow promised as much sin clamped between his teeth as it did when it was moving to form words that twisted her belly into a mass of oh my god WANT. And then there was that cockiness alluding to his knowledge that she’d noticed he’s sex on legs.

She’d come out to the town line to get away from another arrogant asshole. The one who’d used his charms on her and, as far as she could tell, at least three other women in town over the course of their relationship. But that asshole wasn’t here and Mr… (another quick look at the card) Killian Jones was. So her scapegoat-y punching bag he’d be.  

“One. I’m not your love. Or lass. Or whatever other pet name you want to pull out of your ass. I’m Sheriff Swan to you and nothing else. Two. Save the innuendos for your harem of pirate wenches, Captain. Three. Your lack of judgment in word, action and speed has earned you the distinct honor of being the recipient of a field sobriety test. Shut up and stand over there.”

Surprisingly, he complied. And proceeded to almost have a preternatural knowledge of the three levels designed to determine whether or not a driver was impaired. He completed them with precision and minimal direction from Emma, leading her to believe reckless driving with a subsequent sobriety test was somewhat of a hobby for him. 

Almost disappointed she couldn’t haul him handcuffed to the station just to give herself something to do (that didn’t include sitting on the side of the road shit-talking her soon-to-be-ex boyfriend to the darkness), Emma quickly ran Jones’ name to check for warrants and had a chuckle over how dorkily wide-eyed his driver license photo was before heading back to write him a ticket.

“Tonight’s your lucky night, Jones.” She paused for a come-on but he wisely kept his mouth shut. “Because I hadn’t expected someone to come screaming across my town line at two o’clock in the morning, even though I know you were going well over the posted limit I have no radar measurement to slap you with exhibitionist speed. I’ll ticket you for going 19 over the posted.”

The rest of her speech was mindless and rote as she explained the process of contesting the ticket should he so desire and paying the fine, and reminding him that speed limits are posted to keep everyone safe.

Bidding him a good night, Emma handed him back his I.D. and documents with the ticket on top, jolting as their fingers touched. She didn’t recall him taking off his gloves at any point, but then again, she had done the absolute most to avoid looking at Jones and his irritatingly attractive self once her eyes had their initial fill of his various charms. The warmth startled her and she looked up to see the face of a completely changed man. If pressed, she’d say he had gone into their encounter as the Captain (whoever the hell that was) and came out the other side a humbled Killian Jones.

“I apologize for my brashness, Sheriff. Contrary to my behavior this morning, I believe in good form.” He stuffed his documents back into his jacket and one of the fingers she’d touched went to scratch behind his ear in an unsettlingly bashful way. Appearing to realize he was fidgeting, Jones pulled his zipper up to his chin. “I am well-versed in the dangers of perilous driving and will ensure my ventures into your town are within the realm of the law in the future.” 

Emma could only dumbly take several steps backward as he swung that leather-clad leg over the back of the bike, caught off guard by the two very different sides of Killian Jones. Helmet in place, visor up, the motorcycle roared to life. Jones made a show of carefully checking for other vehicles on the deserted road, flashed her a cheeky wink because of course he did, and drove off in the direction from which he came.

Huffing out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, Emma shook her head at the fading taillight. The encounter with Jones was intriguing to say the least. Not what she expected going in, but a begrudgingly welcome distraction from the reality waiting for her in town. The reality of another letdown, another Beyoncé-approved box to the left, this time filled with Walsh’s crap, and another mark in the Emma Swan Will Forever Be Alone column.  

Resting her forehead on the steering wheel, she allowed herself a minute to imagine a simpler life where getting hit on by a ridiculously attractive man in the middle of the night didn’t raise seventeen red flags and add an infinite number of bricks to her already high walls. Maybe she’d flirt back, challenging those blue eyes with her own pair of green. Maybe she’d give him a taste of his own teasing medicine until he asked for her number. Maybe she’d take it a step beyond someday and give now a shot, agreeing to follow him to an inn outside Storybrooke to climb him like a tree for a few hours, leaving just enough time at dawn to report back to the station for a shift change.

But Emma Swan doesn’t do simple. She doesn’t do easy or flirty or carefree. Dereliction of duty wasn’t an option either and, despite her limited interaction with him, she had the distinct impression it wouldn’t sit well with Captain Killian Jones either. 

“Way to kill your own boner, girl,” she muttered to herself as she put the cruiser in drive and made her way down the deserted tree-lined road and into town. Rolling past the clock tower, she allowed herself one more musing on the enigma that was Killian Jones: How long it would take him to go back on his word to keep his brand of law-breaking bullshit out of her town. Because they all break their promises, sooner or later.  

As cautious as Emma was by nature, she was also rarely wrong.

It took thirty days, twenty-two hours and fifteen minutes.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

 _Not only no, but fuck no and fuck you._  

That’s what Emma would have told anyone who suggested she spent the two o’clock hour of her bimonthly night shifts parked at the town line, hoping for another run-in with the mysterious _Captain_ Killian Jones. She just liked communing with nature and the forest. While sitting comfortably in a vehicle, surrounded by the layer of fast food and snack wrappers that carpeted the inside of the cruiser when there were no witnesses to her natural slovenliness.

Years in the foster system usually produced to types of people: those who retained a regimented cleanliness out of fear of being tossed out in the cold and those who flipped an adulthood finger to that notion and were a little looser with the state of their surroundings. Not that Emma would ever cop to the sob story behind her clutter. So what if she controlled her environment by tossing an empty beverage cup over her shoulder once in a while, just because she could?  She wiped up any drips of hot chocolate laced with cinnamon up before handing the car over to her deputy at shift change. No harm, no foul.

And, as far as she was concerned, the same went for Emma’s excursions to the edge of town. Wanting to keep riffraff out of Storybrooke and her citizens safe was the primary duty the Sheriff. Stopping hell on two wheels from endangering the townsfolk was important, regardless of the form it took. It didn’t matter that the handful of times she’d seen him since their first meeting, he’d barely so much as glanced in her direction as he drove past at a respectable and completely lawful speed. The two fingers he’d raised in her direction were the same he’d toss toward any other rider in passing.  

His seeming disinterest in another encounter was why she was parked in the dark just past midnight this time. If she allowed herself to be honest, Emma would admit the time change put her outside of the 2 a.m. box she’d found herself in, but still pressed right up against it.

Closing her eyes, Emma rubbed her thighs together at the sudden mental image of being pressed right up against her cruiser. Or a door, or a wall, or any other immoveable object as long as Jones was the one doing the pressing.  Emma had taken to allowing her imagination to run wild (and her hand to sneak inside her panties as she lay in bed) in the month since she had first encountered him.  

In the moment, she shamelessly pictured Jones pinning her hands above her head, trailing his lips down her neck and across her shoulder as he drove his arousal into her ass, letting her know the want was mutual.  He’d abandon twining his fingers in hers to cup her breasts, thrusting harder into her backside and whispering filthy things in her ear. She would slip a hand down her pants, cupping herself between her legs to ease some of the ache.

_“Oh, yes…”_

The whisper passed her lips just as a pickup truck whizzed past her. It wasn’t the motorcycle she was doing a piss-poor job of avoiding, but it would do as a distraction from the thoughts that were running through her head more often than not lately.

The grin, flashing light bar and U-turn repeated her last late-night encounter, but the similarities ended there. This time, the driver passed on dutifully pulling over and kept going. 

“Really??” Emma hit the gas and followed the truck as it approached town, tossing a little siren in with the lights to show she meant business. That got some attention, and the driver jerked the truck to the side of the road. She was out of the cruiser, gun drawn as the driver of the pickup threw open the door and all but fell out. She recognized that shock of dark hair and the leather jacket anywhere. 

“What the hell, Jones?” Her voice was deafening as the engine died, but Emma refused to let up. “Didn’t you swear on your mother’s grave or some shit that you’d respect me, my town, and the posted speed limits, and NOT race through here like some crazy bastard trying to escape a witch’s curse?”  

In a flash, he came toe to toe with her, swaying slightly and using his height and the difference in the size of their frames to his advantage as he backed her toward her car until her ass hit the hood. Her chin jutted in a show of defiance—he was the asshole here—but the show of bravado died once she caught a glimpse of his eyes.

Anger. No, fury, mixed with anguish, loss and the level of redness that comes from an over-indulgence in drink. Emma knew that look. Lost boys and girls recognize their own. Jones looked positively wrecked and any fire she was willing to bring to the fight died as he schooled his face from the swirling mix of emotions to mocking distain.

“Penance is best wrung from the blood of fresh wounds. I can assure you, Swan, that if I’d done any grave swearing, it would have been on behalf of another. My mother didn’t live long past my birth and one cannot miss something they have never known enough to make an oath of it.” His face moved impossibly closer, his rum-soaked breath ghosting her lips. “Can they?”

He tilted his head, tongue peeking between his teeth as he regarded her with a knowing coldness before turning his back to her.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

She knew she sounded accusatory. She also knew that Jones came to town looking for a fight and didn’t flinch when he rounded on her, figuring she could give him one.

“You think I don’t know that, Swan? Even in my current state, I remember the promise I made you. I remember good form and every godforsaken second of our shared moment.”

He moved closer, this time leading with his hips, providing that delicious pressure she’d been dreaming of for a fucking month. “I remember watching your eyes dilate, just as they are now. I don’t suppose you recall how you looked that night. All business, with just the slightest hint of…” He pushed forward enough for Emma to feel a thickening erection and she involuntarily moaned at the contact. “Pleasure,” he finished as he put several feet of distance between their bodies and took stock of her.

“That’s a good look for you, darling. All wanton and wanting. It’s just how I imagined you all these weeks when I was… _you know_ ,” he whispered, winking conspiratorially as he grabbed the length of his cock through his jeans.

Emma looked away, swallowing hard and he laughed heartily at her apparent discomfort. The sound was jarring in the quiet of the night and was missing the warmth of the last chuckle she’d heard escape his lips; the one he’d let loose after clearly watching her check him out from behind the vantage point of his mirrored visor. 

“I’ve been jackoff material for better,” she bit out, willing herself to not look his hand (with the long, nimble fingers—JESUS) as he brazenly palmed himself. Better for Jones to believe she was offended than turned on in his current state. 

“Is that so, Swan? Ooh, I highly doubt that. You’re a bit of an open book, you see. If you’d fucked me any harder with your eyes all those weeks ago, we’d know what it felt like as I sink myself into your dripping wetness inch by inch instead of just imagining it while getting ourselves off in the shower.” 

“I haven’t been get-.”

He finally stopped torturing her, waving his busy hand dismissively between them. 

“Of course not, darling. A princess such as yourself would never stoop so low as to allow a lawless pirate to cross her mind during such delicate and personal times.” Bowing with a flourish and more than a hint of unsteadiness, he turned back toward his truck. 

“I don’t think so, Jones.”

“My assertion that I’ve played a significant part in your masturbatory fantasies for the last month is wrong?”

“Shut up,” she muttered, avoiding eye contact. “The beat cop two counties over can smell the rum on your breath and I cannot in good conscience let you drive home.”

“Is that an invitation to your place, love?”

“Still not your love. And no. It’s an invitation to get into the backseat of my cruiser.” She met his eyes as he pushed his tongue into his cheek and gave her lascivious gaze. She spoke over his unspoken acknowledgment of the innuendo as she continued. “You need to dry out and I’m done with whatever,” she gestured to the space between them, “THIS is.” 

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Try me, Jones.”

“Is that another invitation, Swan? ‘Try me in the backseat of my squad car?’ Because I—and I cannot stress this enough—would LOVE to.”

She grabbed his arm, all but dragging him toward her car, steadfastly willing her brain to shut the absolute fuck up before it could form the words to take him up on his offer.

Once they reached the car, all of the piss and vinegar seemed to leave Jones. He let her sit him down in the seat and didn’t make a sound when she placed her hand on the top of his head to guide it away from the door frame as he clumsily swung his feet inside.

She did NOT notice how silky the near-black strands felt between her fingers, nor how close his lips were to her ear as she leaned in to buckle his seatbelt and he mumbled something to the effect of “don’t sit back here.”

Thinking perhaps that good form had finally returned and he was instructing her to keep her distance from whatever fleeting plans he’d had for her in the backseat, Emma sighed as she closed his door and opened her own, settling into the worn leather and shaking her head at what had transpired.

By the time they hit the town lights, Jones was snoring softly, head lolled back and mouth open. He woke enough to lean heavily on her as she walked them into the station and shrug off his jacket as he landed on the narrow cot in the drunk tank with a loud _WHUMP_ , sliding down into the fetal position with his back to her. Emma performed a cursory pat down, ignoring the firm muscles of his torso and ass under her hands, finding only what looked like a billfold in his back pocket. 

She took her find and his jacket back to her desk (and did NOT sniff the leather like a complete creeper to see what cologne he wore, thank you VERY much.) Settling in her chair, she propped her feet up on the desk.

With one more glance at his back, Emma said, “Let’s see if we can find out a little more about you tonight, Jones.”

Opening the billfold, Emma’s feet slammed back onto the floor as she stared at its contents in disbelief. 

“Oh. Holy. Fuck.”

_It was a badge._

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Of three things Killian Jones was very sure.             

One, he had a headache the likes of which were unparalleled since he put his reckless early years before the Navy behind him in favor of responsibility and adulthood. 

Two, he was lying on the most uncomfortable bed his back had the misfortune of meeting in a long while.

Three, he was in jail. 

_Oh, fuck he was in jail._

Sitting up faster than his screaming head would like, he winced as his feet hit the floor and a voice broke through his inner monologue. _HER_ voice. 

“Here I’ve been this whole time putting verbal quotation marks around your title, thinking it was a self-proclamation of grandeur by some pretty boy accountant who rides with his gang of white collar buddies on the weekends. But you’ve earned that rank, haven’t you?” Emma paused for effect.

“Captain Killian Jones, Bangor Police Department,” she read off of the business card found tucked behind his badge, extra emphasis on the “Captain.”

Holy fuck. He was fucked. His career was fucked. His life was fucked. Even more than usual. Fuck, fuck, _FUCK_.

Putting his head in his hands, Killian did something a man with his personal history of sin and debauchery rarely bothered with—he prayed. Prayed he was dreaming—hell, prayed he was having a nightmare, because waking up in a cold sweat in his own bed would be better than waking up in Emma Swan’s jail.

“How bad was it?” His hands muffled the question.

“What? I’m afraid I can’t hear you, Captain. You’ll have to sit up straight.”

Throat dry and secondhand embarrassment off the charts, he did. Bloodshot blue met cool, indifferent green, and Killian decided in that moment that her indifference was a thousand times worse than any rage. But he was nothing if not a seasoned professional, trained to take command himself and others in such surroundings. Rolling his shoulders back, he asked again.

“How bad was it? The DUI? I assume you’ve done the usual—standard Breathalyzer with subsequent booking and filing of the charges, impounded my vehicle…” His lower teeth came up over his upper lip. “Notified my commanding officer of my indiscretions.” 

Emma walked around her desk, coming to a stop in front of the bars of the cell. If he wasn’t in such an asshole-clenching predicament, he’d have a comment or two about her tight jeans, fitted sweater and hair that he wouldn’t say no to wrapping around his fist twice as he took her from behind. The momentary fantasy jogged Killian’s memory, and his face went back in his hands as he faintly recalled all but molesting himself on the side of the road, attempting to goad her into snapping. Fight or fuck, it didn’t matter—as long as it stopped the ache in his heart and the emptiness of his pathetic life for a night.

Lost in thought, he looked up again when she cleared her throat.

“Bad. There wasn’t one. No. No. No. No. Aaaaaaaaaand no.” Emma ticked each point off on her fingers. “Oh, and this.” She flipped him the bird and he couldn’t help but grin. If he was going to have someone lined up to read him for filth, Sheriff Swan was a solid choice.

“There was no DUI?”

“No.”

“No booking or charges filed.”

“Nope.”

“No call to my superior.”

 “Drop-kicking a fellow officer’s career in the balls without more information isn’t my style. Plus, I don’t enjoy confrontation.”

He stared at her in disbelief. 

“Somehow I doubt that.”

Emma’s eyebrows rose.

“You think I’m lying?”

“No, darling. I am convinced you are unequivocally telling the truth, but cannot figure out why. Failing to arrest a drunken driver in your town is some downright shoddy police work.” He couldn’t keep himself from bantering with her.

“Not just a drunken driver. One that drove impaired into my town. Made me give chase.”

His eyes closed.

“Lights AND the siren.”

He winced.

“Then you behaved like a crude frat boy who just saw a pair of tits for the first time. One whose only exposures to sex are the wholly unbelievable police officer role play anecdotes in Penthouse Forum. Just when you were this close to whipping it out…”

With the little he knew of Emma Swan, she had to be enjoying how scrunched his face was getting.

“I decided to take you here to dry you out.”

“I don’t deserve your consideration.”

She peered at him through steel. Studied him really, and it made him want to apologize for last month, last night, today and probably some shit he hadn’t even done yet just to cover his bases.

“Maybe not, but I’ll be the judge of that. I’ve come across many stupid, reckless people, Jones. At first glance, you fit the bill. At second glance, you still fit the bill but have a lot more to lose than most of the assholes I lock up. But I have a feeling there’s more to your story and you’re going to tell it over pancakes.” She swung the door open and gestured for him to come out. As Killian brushed past her, Emma caught his arm. “And don’t bullshit me, Captain. I can tell when someone is lying. And you’re buying.”

****

When she told him he was buying her breakfast, Killian assumed Emma would be like many of the women he’d dated. A bagel or muffin with a side of fresh fruit, but his assessment was based off the mid-to-late day “I’ll just have a salad” dining habits he’d witnessed over the years. A woman hadn’t graced his bed past dawn in a long time, much less been invited to stay for breakfast. But as he sipped on black coffee strong enough to convince him it shared the same chemical composition as jet fuel and petulantly ate the two greasy sausage links she’d forked across the table with a mumbled “eat something” he decided to put another tick mark in the _Emma Swan Is Not Like Other Women_ column. 

She switched out the empty plate that once held a ham and cheese omelet, hash browns and four strips of bacon for one with a double stack of pancakes. Cutting a wedge that was as wide as it was tall, Emma shoved it in her mouth and looked up, her dining companion regarding her with a hint of amusement in his now-clear eyes. (Granny’s coffee tasted like concentrated swamp water, but it cured a hangover like no other.)

“What?” She said it with her mouth full and glared at him as she swallowed. “Got a problem?”

It was juvenile and he chortled.

“I’ve many a problem, darling. Watching you systematically pack away a full breakfast and practically tongue the plate clean is not one of them.”

“I didn’t tongue the plate.”

“Perhaps not, but I have a feeling you might have had there been no one to impress.”

“It’s cute you think I’m trying to impress you, Jones.” She made a show of licking the syrup off her fork and gave him a wildly insincere smile.

“It’s cute you think I don’t know you’re trying to put me off by displaying table manners not unlike a street urchin who doesn’t know when they’ll have another meal.”

The utensil clattered to the table, distracting him from the unexpected hurt he saw in her eyes and the immediate chant of “you dumbass” running through his own head. 

“Start talking, Jones. I didn’t spend half my night listening to you saw logs and watching you drip drool onto the cot in one of my cells for fun.”

“This is where the fun begins then, love?” Killian grinned as Emma’s mouth soundlessly formed the words not your love as she circled her hand in the universal motion for him to continue. He steepled a finger near his ear and leaned an elbow on the table. “Killian Jones. 35. I hold the rank of Captain within the Bangor Police Department. Former Naval officer. Unmarried. No kids.“ 

Looking directly into her eyes, he half-shrugged a shoulder.

“So that’s it?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Nothing more to tell? No sordid past, no tragic backstory? Just a reciting of your abandoned Match.com account’s bio?” Emma leaned into the table.

Uncomfortable with her gaze, Killian slid down in his seat, steadfastly ignoring the slide of his knee against hers in the narrow space under the booth.

“Do you remember when I told you I can tell when someone is lying to me?”

“As I said, I recall and cherish every word and moment we’ve shared, Swan.”

“Interesting.” Emma signaled the waitress to bring her a refill on her hot chocolate, motioning for her to include another cinnamon sprinkle. He raised an eyebrow at her innocently salacious gesture and hoped her lie detecting abilities caused a deficiency in another area (such as memory) so the good sheriff would forget his self-abuse and lewdness by the side of the road just a few hours before. 

Weighted silence fell as she waited for a mug piled high with whipped cream and their bill to be plunked down on the chipped Formica table. The genuine smile Emma flashed at the waitress didn’t escape him, and he desperately wished he were spending time with her under difference circumstances to be on the receiving end of one. 

“Do you know what else I can do?” Killian swallowed hard as she swiped a finger through the cream in her mug and sucked it off, staring him dead in the eye. 

“No, but I’d kick a box of kittens into a ceiling fan to find out.”

“You’re going to hell.”

“Been there and back.” He said it with an ease and confidence borne of years believing it.

Emma settled back in the booth, sliding her leg further along his until her knee was brushing his inner thigh, holding his gaze. Unwilling to gamble on whether or not she was playing at something, he casually draped an arm over the back of his seat and spread his knees to break their contact.

“So what is this other superpower of yours, Swan? Besides the ability to sniff out liars.”

“Before I was in law enforcement, I was a bail bondsperson. I’m sure in your line of work, you have an inkling of what sort of skills would make one excel at that particular profession, Captain?”

He nodded, unable to find words that weren’t _shit_ , f _uck_ , or _goddamn it_.

“It seems you left out a few details. Killian Jones. 35. No social media presence aside from an Instagram account that favors sunrises, bodies of water and the Valencia filter. You bought your motorcycle, the truck and a cabin in a remote area of the next county within three months of each other after being on the receiving end of an insurance policy payout.”

Emma’s voice softened.

“Not long after you made the rank of captain in the Bangor Police Department following the death of your brother. Liam Jones was killed in the line of duty five years ago yesterday. You were appointed his successor, promoted from lieutenant and transferred to his department to run his unit.”

He couldn’t help the sting of tears in his eyes and he looked toward the ceiling to catch them before they fell. Unsure if it was over his loss being laid at his feet or anger at her digging, Killian drew a breath to tell Emma Swan to go fuck herself when her hand slipped over his.

“Look at me. Jones. Please.”

He shook his head.

“Killian.”

That did it. To hell with earning a smile, he could die a somewhat content man hearing his name fall from her lips in a gentle whisper. Killian looked up to see her were full of sympathy.

“I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand and waited a beat. “Tell me about last night.”

Drawing his hand back, Killian hunched in on himself, all of the fake swagger he’d displayed just a moment ago gone.

“I tried to keep busy. Worked a 5 a.m. shift and when there was a shooting in broad daylight at three in the afternoon, I rolled out with the detectives assigned to the case. The scene was a mess—an armed robbery went bad. The convenience store clerk and the gunman exchanged fire. “

He picked up a napkin and began systematically shredding it.

“A bullet clipped the neck of a 15-year-old bystander–he bled out before an ambo could be called.  The eyewitnesses scattered and it took hours of knocking on doors before we found one. By the time we called it a day, night had fallen. My detectives were heading out for a drink and asked if I’d join. I—I didn’t want to be alone.”

The pile of torn napkin was brushed to the side in favor of a fidgety spinning of the heavy ring on his thumb. Emma nodded for him to continue.

“One drink turned into two. Two turned into making my leave and heading to the cabin with a stop off for a bottle. With the third came the tears and the fourth, the resolution to move on from marking the day every damn year with maudlin reflection and reckless behavior, living every day to the fullest. And the fifth brought the ill-conceived notion that I may not have put my best foot forward during our initial meeting, and Captain Morgan decided a drunken Killian Jones could do better.“ 

“You came to what–woo me? By driving while massively intoxicated?”

He huffed a breath and went to work worrying a different ring.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. My brother was always after me to get out of my own head. What better way to honor his memory than getting so far out of it that I endangered who knows how many civilians, rural mailboxes and a decade-long career on my way to get laid?”

“You were so NOT going to get laid showing up like that.” Emma crossed her arms and made a valiant effort to look both casual at the notion and moderately offended.

Killian saw the opportunity to deflect and took it.

“So if I’d shown up stone-cold sober, we’d be having enthusiastic morning sex at this moment? Good to know, Swan.”

She snorted.

“You wish.”

“Of course I wish. Have you met you? Getting a taste of the Emma Swan blend straight from the source would be quite refreshing.” He slurped his coffee loudly, smacking his lips and exhaling with a loud _ahhhhhhhhh_. 

Her boot made contact with his shin under the table.

“I know you’re making a sad attempt to change the subject, Jones. And, for the record, Sober Killian isn’t any closer to getting laid than Drunk-as-Fuck Killian.”

He twisted in the booth, stretching his legs across the seat as he rested his back against the wall.

“I love a challenge. Sober Killian will just have to try harder.”

“I’d say Sober Killian can go fuck himself, but Drunk Killian already established he does that in the shower.”

The bang of his head against the floral wallpaper of the diner was loud, as was her giggle at his expense. Eyes closed, Killian desperately wished for a tear in the time-space continuum so he could go back and punch his drunken, stupid self in the face.

“Are we done here, Sheriff? I’m not sure my ego can take another hit.” He reached for the inside pocket of his jacket only to find it empty.

“Ah…I seem to have forgotten my wallet. Unless before you were a cop and bail bondsperson, you were also a thief.”

Sliding out of the booth and grabbing the check, Emma threw him an eye roll and a generous tip onto the table.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Making long strides to catch up to her as she approached the register and paid, Killian touched her elbow.

“Perhaps I would.”

Tossing somewhat flattened, day-old curls over her shoulder, she stepped out of his reach and toward the door.

“Let’s go, Captain. I’ll drop you off at your vehicle before I head home to catch up on the sleep you’re costing me.”

He trotted after her as she briskly made her way up the street from the diner and back to the station. Taking in his surroundings, Killian decided that as much as he appreciated the solitude his cabin provided after a long week of working in the city, the slowness of a town like Storybrooke held little appeal to him. He wondered how Emma—someone he saw as a bit of a kindred spirit—didn’t go mad patrolling the picturesque storefronts and streets that were still mostly deserted, even at 7:30 on a weekday morning. 

Bangor wasn’t huge by any means, but he doubted the morning shift here yielded so much as a speeding ticket most days. Lost in thought wondering why she’d let the revenue from a DUI slip through her fingers and escape Storybrooke’s ledger, Killian almost ran into Emma when she stopped abruptly in front of a battered yellow car.

“Quite a vessel you have there, Swan.” He wrinkled his nose, not at the fact that she owned a beater - he’d had more than his fair share of them over the years - but at the impracticality and potential danger of driving such a vehicle in the snowy, icy Maine winters.

She threw him a dirty look at she got into the car and leaned across to pull up the door lock on the passenger side. While he all but fell into the low seat, accidentally slammed the door and worked to arrange his booted feet in a limited amount of space, Emma turned the key in the ignition and worked the long gearshift into first, pulling away from the curb.

“Talk shit about my car again and you can walk, Jones. This is my baby.” She patted the dash above the ancient AM radio. “And it’s in far better condition now than it was when I, uh, acquired it. You could hear it coming from a mile away, thanks to the exhaust leak.”

They fell into a companionable silence as the town faded in the rearview mirror, broken only when she pulled the car behind his truck and deadpanned her farewell.

“Get out.”

Killian’s laugh faded as he warred with what to say. I’m sorry? Thank you? Breakfast is on me next time? He settled on a warped mix of all three as he scratched behind his ear and glanced sideways at her.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your day. I apologize for casting a pall on your night with my inexcusable behavior.” He climbed out of the car, leaning back in. “I’m in your debt, Swan.” He hoped his tone conveyed the sincerity he felt.

She nodded and he went to close the door.

“Jones.”

Killian stuck his head into the doorframe.

“If you pull that shit again, I’ll hit your ass with every consequence imaginable, including coming for your badge. Don’t mistake my ability to recognize when someone needs a shoulder over a pair of handcuffs for the acceptance of an irresponsible cop endangering the citizens he’s sworn to protect. Even outside his jurisdiction.” 

Her mouth was a hard line and Killian knew she completely serious.

“Understood.” He gave her a nod and straightened, speaking over the top of the car but loud enough for her to hear. 

“Until we meet again, Sheriff.”

By the time Killian unlocked the truck and heaved himself into the cab, she was gone. Briefly touching his mouth with his fingers, he considered the width and breadth of this last encounter with Emma Swan and let out a stream of air. She’d (figuratively) pushed him out of the path of a bullet from his own fucking gun and he owed her.

As he started the engine, Killian wondered in what manner they’d cross paths again.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where it gets smutty, kids.

Chapter 4 

_Best behavior_ didn’t begin to describe the next three months of Killian’s life. If the best revenge is living well, he figured the best way to atone for his discretions was to get his shit together.

He threw himself into his work when he was in the city, honoring his brother’s legacy. Instead of booze-soaked, lost weekends at his cabin, Killian found grounding solace in hiking the surrounding woods and kayaking the waters. The sagging front porch was fixed, a ripped screen replaced, fresh paint coated the walls, and the shower walls had been switched out from 1967 avocado green to more modern white beveled subway tiles. Not necessarily backbreaking labor, but it provided Killian with two things he hadn’t realized were missing from his life outside of his job—focus and pride.

Critically examining the evenness of his grout job in one of the corners as he let warm water cascade down his back, Killian willed himself to not think of the most difficult aspect of his newfound discipline: staying away from Storybrooke on his many long rides on his motorcycle. Every fiber of his being was drawn toward the town and Emma Swan and he had to talk himself out of bringing her hot chocolate laced with cinnamon on the chillier nights, or accidentally-on-purpose running into her under the guise of looking through the town’s antique store and pawn shop for treasures and oddities with which to furnish his cabin.

The longing Killian felt to be in her presence—to earn her forgiveness and favor--was constant. It unnerved him and he found it easier to embrace his more carnal interests, imagining how mind-blowing sex with Emma would be, alone with his thoughts and his hand. The fantasies of his in which she’d starred were varied. They ranged from near-chaste kisses in front of a fire (not a part of his usual repertoire) to enthusiastic fucking on any and all available surfaces (how his fleeting encounters usually went down. 

Bracing one hand against the wall, he slid the other down between his legs where his cock was already heavy with anticipation of their daily routine. He thought of tangling long blonde hair in his fingers, pink lips gliding over his length, tongue swirling around the head. Whatever she couldn’t fit in her mouth was sliding through her fingers, slowly at first but gaining speed as green eyes refused to break contact with his.

_“Yes, darling, just like that. I want you to swallow every inch of me.”_

Killian picked up the pace from slow, torturous pulling to fast, rhythmic stroking. The wet smacking sound thundered in the bathroom and mixed with whispered oaths but it still wasn’t enough. Cool water hit his chest as he pushed off the wall and bent his knees, fucking his cock into his fist.

 _“Yes, love. More. I want to feel your throat close around me.”_ His hips flexed frantically, mimicking the way he’d take control, taking her open mouth until her nose pressed against his abdomen. Feeling the tug of a fast-approaching orgasm, his words turned filthy.

_“Where do you want me to come, lass? Will you swallow every drop? Or shall I paint that pretty face?”_

Pulling his hips back, Killian pounded himself, imagining Emma waiting on her knees, a finger circling her clit as he jacked his cock over her. With a roar he came, aiming downward as he wrung every last bit of pleasure he could from the vision in his head.

He cursed under his breath, vexed that once again he’d jumped the gun, indulging in self-gratification before bothering with soap or shampoo. On shaky legs, he made quick work of washing and stepped out of the shower onto the newly acquired gel mat. A brisk rubdown with a towel that went neatly around his waist, Killian stepped to the sink and took stock in the mirror. 

Eyes a little glassy, but clear. Cheeks flushed, but shaved smooth. His beard had become unruly in the month or so before the anniversary of Liam’s death and it along with his overly shaggy mane had been one of the first things to go when he vowed to make some changes. He maintained a level of well-kept scruff and put just enough product in his hair to keep it one stubborn lock from Superman curling over his forehead. 

Killian knew many a woman would (and did) give him a second glance and once upon a time, he encouraged them to look (and touch.) Maybe it was the lasting euphoria from an explosive orgasm, but the idea of leaving casual sex behind in favor of something more meaningful was less of a turn off than it had been at one time.

Shaking his head, Killian completed the rest of his bathroom routine and got dressed; dark jeans and a plaid shirt were his usual off duty uniform. Rolling up his sleeves, he decided a sandwich and a nap on the couch were in order—hopefully a dreamless one. It appeared his subconscious was just as interested in bedding Emma Swan as his waking mind, and sleep that didn’t leave him hard and wanting upon waking was becoming more elusive.

****

Killian’s cell danced across the coffee table as it rang and he groaned at the ring tone before groggily answering, nearly pitching himself off the couch and onto the floor in the process.

“Locksley, how many times have I told you to stop using department resources to hack my phone and change the bloody ringtone to “The Lion Sleeps Tonight?”

The hearty laugh of his best detective and closest friend boomed in his ear and he held it away from his head six inches until Robin pulled himself together.

“You’re only pissed because it took you a day and a half to figure out how to change it back the first time. And I’m going to tell Zelena you referred to her as ‘department resources’ again.”

Killian’s longstanding struggle to adapt to a department-issued Android after a years-long personal love affair with Apple products was the bane of his existence and a source of amusement for his unit. 

“Dick,” Killian muttered under his breath. He sat up, tucking the phone between cheek and shoulder. “It’s my day off, Rob, as you well know. What do you want?”

“Chief Hunter called for all hands on deck. A group of kids from a town a few counties over came to the Discovery Museum for a field trip and one has gone missing. The kid’s name is…ah, fuck. I had it here somewhere.”

Killian could hear Robin rustling through the shit storm of papers on his desk.

“Anyway, the kid disappeared sometime between lunch and the afternoon free roam. Didn’t answer roll call on the bus to come home.”

Moving through the kitchen to the small table in the foyer that held his keys, badge and gun, Killian propped his ass against the front door of the cabin and pulled on his boots as Robin continued.

“The homeroom teacher said there have been some issues with a birth father threatening to go to court for visitation rights. We’re treating the disappearance as a possible non-custodial parent abduction.”

Putting the phone on speaker and placing it down on the table, Killian shrugged into his shoulder holster, fastening the straps and securing his .45 Glock. He grabbed his leather jacket and juggled his keys, badge and a money clip as stepped through the door onto a satisfyingly solid porch, locking the heavy slab of pine behind him. A notoriously ambling walker, Killian’s natural saunter toward his truck turned into a brisk jog at what Robin said next.

“Kid is from Storybrooke. The town’s sheriff is already here. She said she has some history dealing with the kid’s biological father. Could be an asset.”

“I’m on my way.” 

Killian broke the speed limit for the first time in three months, racing toward Bangor and willing himself to find some chill before he came face to face with Emma Swan once again.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Killian would recognize that blonde hair anywhere, along with the assets both he and Robin had so crudely admired, half covered by hands shoved into her back pockets. A zing of irrational jealously licked at his conscious thought, imagining his friend earning Emma Swan’s favor by not being a perpetual fuck-up every time he was in her company.

Seeing her in person brought a wave of emotions for which Killian was not quite prepared. He expected the rush of adrenaline, but not the schoolboy nervousness that rendered his palms clammy, or the sudden chagrin over the blatant objectification of her that accompanied his fantasies (a method he’d only admit under Gitmo-style torture was to keep him from thinking of words like _dating_ and _future_.) 

Thirty feet away, all flesh and bone, Emma looked every inch as he remembered her, right down to the tense stance of her shoulders that left no doubt in Killian’s mind that she _would_ be a tremendous asset given where this case was headed. It was the depth of distress he saw on her face as she turned in his direction that was new.

Again breaking his famed languid stride, Killian crossed the bullpen, fighting the urge to pull her aside (or into his arms) as he approached the group with whom she was standing.

“Conference room, guys.” He walked past, knowing his unit would follow and that Emma wouldn’t be far behind.

The white board had already been set up with the standard fare: photo of the missing child, along with stats and identifiable markers, the same for the non-custodial parent. A BOLO had already gone out to Bangor PD and surrounding areas. He’d already been briefed by the brass upstairs and was ready to take the helm. 

“Alright, listen up.” Killian’s tone commanded attention. Everyone in the room turned toward the front. “Our missing kid is Grace Paige of Storybrooke, Maine. DOB is November 26, 2006, which makes her tender-age. A non-custodial parent abduction has moved past possible into probable territory.” He pointed to the photo next to Grace’s. “Jefferson Hatmacher, age 34. He has a history of arrests and run-ins with the law. There is a mental illness angle at play here as well. For more on that, Sheriff Emma Swan from Storybrooke PD.”

Killian caught Emma’s eye as she stood to address the room and she nodded at him before speaking.

“Thank you. Jefferson Hatmacher suffers from paranoid schizophrenia, a condition that makes it difficult for him to separate his delusions from reality. He has been under the care of Dr. Archie Hopper, who has informed me Jefferson went off his medication during a downward spiral after becoming hyper-focused on his belief that his ex-wife Priscilla has abandoned Grace. As Captain Jones mentioned, I’ve had many dealings with Jefferson in the past and the majority of his arrests have been for theft. I don’t want to overstep, but given his propensity to support himself through shoplifting and stealing from easy targets, it may be beneficial to the investigation to conduct interviews and check surveillance footage in convenience stores and smaller shops between here and Storybrooke.”

She paused to glance at a yellow notepad on the table.

“The decision to take Grace may have been premeditated, but it’s likely Jefferson is gathering resources on the fly. His ex says she left work early after receiving a call that Grace was missing to find her car had been stolen out of the parking lot. ”

She slid a copy of Priscilla’s DMV registration across the table and one of the detectives taped it to the board. 

“One more thing before I turn the room back over to the Captain: Jefferson does have a history of violent behavior toward law enforcement.”

Everyone else may have missed the way her throat worked over the words and how she fiddled with the pendant on her necklace, but Killian didn’t.

She continued quickly, “Although it is the exception to the rule. That being said, there is no reason to believe Jefferson would hurt his daughter purposely, but he may act unpredictably when caught off guard or surrounded by people he doesn’t know.” 

Emma shot Killian a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes as he took the floor once more.

****

She had to admit the way Jones ran his unit was impressive. Emma had never had such an inclusive, collaborative commanding officer. The trust he had in his detectives was clear as the unit methodically laid out the first leg of the investigation as a team then broke off according to strengths.

Robin and a guy named Will, enthusiastically embracing her suggestion to backtrack Jefferson’s steps toward Storybrooke, were already making phone calls to the other towns, paving the way for their presence and giving the police departments a heads up on the situation. Both had completed stints in Robbery and their connections in Bangor and the surrounding areas would come in handy.

A handful of other detectives shuffled out, some thanking Emma for coming in on the investigation, others said nothing but shook her hand. Their exit left her in the conference room with Killian and one other member of his squad. Zelena, a striking woman who came off as more than a little haughty, dissolved Emma’s first impression with some good-natured teasing at her boss’s expense regarding his inability to work the digital aspect of the investigation.

“If you handle the warrant, I’ll just go work my magic on Hatmacher’s phone in the Green Room.” Zelena gestured to a cubicle across the bullpen to a cubicle. Every inch that wasn’t part of a complex desktop computer with dual screens was decorated in shades of the color. “Unless you’d like to have first crack, sir. I promise it’s no more complex than figuring out how to change the ring tone on your department-issued cell.”

Jones childishly stuck his tongue out at her and waved her off. “Begone, witch, before someone drops a house on you.”

Zelena's wide-mouth, toothy laugh would have bordered on scary if it hadn’t been so completely genuine. She winked conspiratorially at Emma as she exited the conference room.

Alone with Killian, they worked different angles. She took the field trip chaperones since they were all from her town; he worked on obtaining a warrant for Jefferson’s cell phone. After a few hours, she had spoken to three teachers and six parents, all of who were hysterical and felt responsible for not keeping a closer eye on Grace. Arching her back in a stretch and rolling her neck, Emma allowed her mind to wander to the man sitting across the conference room table, twisting his hair into spikes as he scribbled notes in a leather bound book.

She appreciated Jones hadn’t outed them as anything more than newly acquainted professionals in front of his squad. NOT that they were anything more than acquainted professionals. She absolutely had _not_ felt a jolt when she saw Jones walk into the bullpen area, nor had she allowed herself a split second to appreciate how he looked in that blue button-up plaid shirt that matched his eyes. She was here for Jefferson and Grace and nothing else.

Lost in thought, it took a second for Emma to realize he had said something to her, and that her inner monologue that had overlapped him speaking long to be awkward.

“I’m sorry, what?” Emma busied herself gathering a new set of notes, a blush staining her cheeks. 

“I asked if you were involved in any of Hatmacher’s more aggressive altercations.” 

Painstakingly tearing sheets of notes off the yellow pad and tucking them next to various color-coded tabs in the thick binder she’d brought from her office, Emma stalled.

“Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer,” she quoted.

“Open book. I’d like to know more about your past…experiences with him.”

The softness of his tone gave her the push she needed to not follow him toward familiarity. Adopting the same rigidity she used when presenting to her own superiors in another time and place, Emma laid it all out.

“Dr. Hopper went out of town and asked if I would facilitate a scheduled visitation between Jefferson and Grace. He told me Jefferson had been going through a rough patch and that Priscilla was leery of keeping the appointment. At first, everything seemed to be on schedule. Jefferson appeared to have his wits about him. He made tea me a cup of Earl Gray, telling me Grace and her stuffed rabbit loved to have tea parties. Priscilla canceled at the last minute and it pushed him over the edge. He accused me of working with her to keep Grace away from him. I realized too late the tea was drugged. It made me woozy enough for him to get me in a chokehold. When I woke up, I was laying on a mattress, bound and gagged. He was gone”

Out of papers to fiddle with, she looked up to see Killian staring at her, a horrified look on his face.

“He didn’t…”

“ _NO!_ No. Nothing like that. It was just to buy time to go over to Priscilla’s. My deputy responded to a call from her; Jefferson was pacing in front of her house, ranting. With Dr. Hopper on the phone and Dr. Whale from the hospital on scene, we were able to talk him down after a few hours. Jefferson was sedated and put on an involuntary hold. Ever since then, he hasn’t trusted me. Aside from providing backstory, I’m not sure how much help I’m going to be.” 

Emma could see the tension leaving his body as Jones put an ankle over his knee and leaned back in his chair.

“Nonsense. You’re good police, save for your errors in judgment regarding cads gracing your jurisdiction with their drunken presence.”

“You had to bring it up.” Emma leaned back in her own chair, swinging gently from side to side.

“Of course, lass. Not in front of witnesses, mind you. But it’s nice to see you again, Swan. I just wish it were under different circumstances.”

“You look good.” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Emma wanted to kick herself and waited to see how he’d take it. She expected the preening peacock she’d known Jones to be, but he answered without his usual tsunami of swagger.

“I feel good. May have taken our last encounter as something of a divine intervention.” He whistled a tune she recognized as the refrain from Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus.”

“Did you just refer to me as your savior, Jones? That’s a lot of responsibility considering how far into hot mess territory you were. I think I’ll pass on that particular job.” 

“No worries, darling. There are a few other jobs I have in mind for you.”

The look he gave her left no question as to his meaning and Jones laughed as her mouth dropped open. She quickly transitioned from startled to smirking, shooting him one of the coy looks she added to her arsenal back in the day when chasing skips meant showing up to a date in a slinky red dress and stilettos, her gun strapped to her inner thigh. 

“Please. You couldn’t handle it.”

The way his lips twisted upward before as leaned toward her felt like a dare.

“Perhaps you are the one who couldn’t handle it.

Just as Jones put the emphasis on the “t” and Emma was starting to wonder how the hell they’d gone from discussing the case to something akin to flirting, a loud bang came from behind her. Whirling around in her chair, she saw a tennis ball rolling away from the glass wall of the conference center and Zelena across the bullpen, waving at them. At the same time, Killian’s phone started to buzz and he dove to answer it, mouthing _shut the fuck up_ to Emma as she laughed at the ringtone.

“Rob. Really, already? Hold on a second, Zelena’s got something.”

Emma turned toward the door as the other woman stuck her head in.

“Apologizes for startling you, Sheriff. He won’t let me toss fireballs around the office.” She looked to Jones. “Last cell signal bounced off a tower up north off I-95 an hour and a half ago. I’m not getting anything past that, but it gets remote quickly.”

He nodded and spoke into the phone.

“You heard that? Mmmhmm.” He listened as Robin spoke, lifting a finger to the women, silently asking them to hold on another moment.

“Got it. Good work, Locksley.” He ended the call and looked at Zelena. “A convenience store clerk halfway between here and Storybrooke says he spotted Jefferson earlier this morning. Said he looked shifty and was mumbling to himself. Guy thought he may have been on drugs and followed him around the store making small talk so he couldn’t steal anything. He says he overheard Jefferson say something about camping with his daughter, and that he drove off in a ‘new-ish’ blue sedan.”

“If it was a Chevy Malibu, that’s Priscilla’s car. License plate 326-CVB.”

Emma and Jones pushed their chairs back at the same time and stood. He motioned her through the conference room door out into the bullpen where Zelena was waiting.

“Border Patrol is already aware of the Amber Alert. So far, there is no record of a vehicle with that plate crossing into Canada.”

Emma shook her head as they started walking. “Jefferson has spent a lot of time in the woods. If he said something about camping, it’s most likely he’ll try going off the grid. If his phone stopped pinging at a certain point, it’s because he turned it off or went out of signal range. Either way, it’s a place to start. 

Zelena peeled off at her cubicle, telling Jones she’d send him the location of the cell tower. He raised a double thumbs up at her over his head and motioned for Emma to follow him and walked into an office. The dominant wall decoration was a large poster of a large ship silhouetted within a full moon, sails unfurled, rigging stretched tight. A vast collection of department commendations and certificates were mounted around it; at closer look, they all bore the name of Liam Jones.

“It’s nice you kept these up.”

Killian didn’t say anything at first, bending to pull well-worn leather duffel out of a cabinet and setting it on the desk. He didn’t look at her as he unzipped it and took stock.

“I found them all collecting dust in Liam’s attic after – when he was gone.”

Apparently satisfied with the contents of his to-go bag, he closed it, picking it up with a swing and grabbing a set of keys off a hook by the door.

“Liam wasn’t much for accolades. Hated them, in fact. When I moved into the unit, I hung them up as a reminder.”

Emma followed him through the room down a long hallway, fingers curled around her necklace. Jones wasn’t going to get any crap from her about talismans or holding onto the past; they were kind of her thing, too.

“I didn’t see any with your name.” She brushed past him as he held an exterior door open for her, shielding her eyes from the setting sun out in the parking lot. The days were getting shorter and she thanked a slew of mythology gods she’d thought to add a heavier coat, hat and gloves to her own to-go bag.

He popped the trunk on an unmarked sedan and nestled his duffle between a rifle case and a first aid kit. He slammed the trunk and nudged her out of the way, coming around the passenger side of the car and opening the door for her. 

Emma settled into the car with a dramatic flourish. “Two doors in the last thirty seconds? I had no idea you were such a gentleman, Jones,” she teased, deciding he was purposely dropping the commendation talk.

He leaned into the doorframe. It was reminiscent of the last moments they’d spent together all those months ago, this time in much closer proximity. So close, in fact, that his breath moved the strands that had escaped her ponytail as he whispered lowly in her ear, “I’m always a gentleman.” 

The pull in Emma’s belly was fierce as he straightened, trotting around the front of the car and getting in behind the wheel. After a fastidious check of his mirrors, the click of his seatbelt and a sassy eyebrow waggle in her direction once he’d donned a pair of Ray Bans, Jones started the car and pulled out of the lot. Keeping her face neutral, Emma looked out the window as Bangor passed by.

They were a few miles down the freeway before he spoke again.

“About the awards - I’ve a few. But Liam was the real Captain Jones. I’m just a cheap imitation.”

The ringing of his phone kept Emma from responding, not that she had any idea what the hell to say.

“Can you hold that for me? Thanks. This is Jones,” he said as she held the phone to his ear. “Legit? How long ago? Ah, fuck. Okay, we’ll head that direction. Local knows we’re coming? Thanks.”

She disconnected the call and put the phone back in the cup holder from which she’d picked it up.

“So?”

“A woman camping with her family heard the Amber Alert and remembers seeing a man matching Jefferson’s description hanging outside the women’s bathroom at a rest stop northeast of where the tower last pinged a signal. She didn’t notice what car he was driving, but it’s the best lead we have at the moment.”

He patted her knee then put the pedal to the metal. Focusing on the road ahead, Emma did her best to ignore the warmth left behind by his fingers. 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter earns the M rating, thanks to a fair amount of smut and Killian's filthy mouth.

Chapter 6

Four days. Four goddamned _days_ of covering ground, chasing leads, tromping through the woods, and all Emma wanted was a hot shower and more than four hours of sleep in the cold. She didn’t even blink as she half-assed eavesdropped on Jones’ phone call with his department’s admin as he paced in front of the car, gleaning from the side of the conversation she could hear that in the flurry of activity surrounding the search for Jefferson and Grace, that department protocol when it came to travel had been followed to a T. 

The budget required any rank below Commander to share accommodations, with females given the option to room alone. The admin had gone down the list of Bangor badges and, determining everyone out in the field at the time was of the penis persuasion. She hadn’t taken into consideration Emma was tagging along from an outside jurisdiction, and a reservation had been made for one room at the cheap motel they’d pulled into whose heyday had been somewhere in the Nixon era. And before Emma could drag her ass out of the car to rent her own room if sharing was going to be such a big fucking deal to him, the admin told Jones she’d tried to snag the last vacancy, but it was no longer available.

Jones dropped his ass in the driver’s seat with one leg sprawled outside.

“My apologies, lass. We’ll have to share a double. I tried to secure you a private room, but it appears someone beat me to it.” He scowled in the direction of a beat up station wagon parked six rooms away. A pot-bellied man with thinning hair was pulling luggage out of the back, loudly bitching at his young wife for failing to get a room with enough bed space for everyone. She looked close to tears as she balanced a sticky-faced toddler on her hip and two other children, close enough in age to be Irish twins, played a loud game of I’m Not Touching You until one was poked in the eye and started to cry.

“Shut that brat up, bitch! You and these crotchfruit can take the floor. Or sleep in the bathtub for all I care. I’ve been driving all fucking day. The bed is mine.” Emma saw the way the woman flinched and turned slightly to put herself between him and the baby as he angrily stormed by, purposely knocking into her shoulder.

Emma was already halfway out of the car when a strong hand snagged back of her pants and hauled her back down again. She whirled on Jones so fast her ratty ponytail smacked his face. 

“Let me go.” It was both a request and a warning. There was no way in hell Emma was going to stand by and let some asshole abuse his wife if she could do something about it.

“Why – so you can go punch him in the face? I saw it, too, Swan. Allow me to handle this.” He waited for her nod before getting out of the car.

Ten minutes later, the family was tucked into the room with double beds rented by Bangor PD. Jones had laid it on thick, spinning a tall tale about traveling with his family as a kid, his mother pregnant with a fourth child and a kind elderly couple insisting the growing family take their bigger room in order to allow the children to rotate turns in the second bed. Telling the young mother he’d been waiting for years to pay it forward and chucking the toddler she was holding under the chin, Jones winked in Emma’s direction as he grabbed one of the couple’s suitcases to helm them move, letting his jacket fall open and revealing the badge clipped to his belt. Once the man saw it, he was on his best behavior, shaking Killian’s hand and ushering the two older children into the room.

“You know where to find my partner and I if you need anything,” he said to the woman, gesturing to Emma through the windshield, who stopped finger combing the hair she’d released from the tattered ponytail and waved. “These walls are so thin, I’d imagine you could whisper and we’d hear it.” She breathed a thank you, catching the double meaning of his statement and stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Jones got back in the car, started the ignition and moved it to the parking spot next to the station wagon. He took out his leather notebook and jotted something down before hopping out and grabbing both his duffle and Emma’s from the trunk.

She followed him to the door, rolling her eyes as he made a show of jiggling the key in the janky lock. Emma shoved his back when it clicked and the knob turned, pushing him into the room and crowding in behind him. He tossed their bags on the double bed and turned to her.

“Well, this is cozy. It’s a good thing we’re both adults and can handle such close quarters, right Swan? He reached out and flipped a tangled lock of her hair over her shoulder.

“Adults according to age, yes. Maturity?? Jury’s still out with you.”

“You wound me, Sheriff. Would an immature fuckwit graciously offer the woman in his company the bed while he takes the floor? I don’t think so.” 

Emma snorted. “If the immature fuckwit wants to spend a fourth – wait, make that a third - night on hard ground, this time on industrial carpet saturated with bodily fluids and Hepatitis or some shit, he can be my guest.” The way Jones first picked up one booted foot off the floor then the other while eyeing the heavily stained floor made her laugh so hard she wiped tears from her eyes. The length and stress of the search for her missing Storybrooke residents was making Emma punchy. “We can share the bed for a night. Unless you prefer to sleep in the car again.” 

“Fuck literally all of that. My knee is still bruised from smacking it on the underside of the dashboard when you honked the damn horn to wake me in lieu of a proper alarm.” 

Their first night out had been one of trial and error. Short on equipment after rushing to follow a sighting, officers and volunteers alike had struggled for places to lay their heads. Emma ended up in the backseat of the unmarked cruiser, knees bent and feet tucked under the reclined passenger seat where Killian slept. The horn honking, she admitted to herself, had served as a distraction from the thoughts that raced through her head at dawn when she woke first. He looked almost beautiful in sleep and her fingers itched to brush back the hair falling into his eyes. Emma had nearly reached for him then leaned between the seats to smack the horn instead. Jones had jolted awake, cursing loudly. So, yeah, the knee bruise was her fault, but it sure as shit beat him waking to her caressing him like a princess whose betrothed had fallen under a sleeping curse.

Emma opened her mouth to toss a retort back. It felt good to bicker and banter after a few days of being hyper-focused on the investigation, but was interrupted by her phone blaring in her back pocket. The damn thing had all but been rendered useless by the spotty coverage off the beaten path and Emma had jacked the volume all the way up at one point, willing it to ring with good news so they could all go home. She answered it, Jones cocking an eyebrow in her direction. 

“They tried to call you, but it went straight to voicemail. Fucking crappy signals. Arial support found Priscilla’s car. It looks like Jefferson tried to off road it and got stuck in the mud. The sunroof was left open and the interior is bone dry. Your detectives think he may have abandoned it after last night’s storm had already passed. Two sets of footprints lead away to the west. They’re calling for all available ground units for a grid search.” Emma opened the door and made a dash for the car, Jones hot on her heels. Another storm was coming in, and Jefferson couldn’t move fast with a ten year old. This was as good a chance as they had of catching up.

****

“God DAMMIT!” Killian angrily heaved his soaked leather jacket. The loud smack it made hitting the wall before crumpling on the dirty carpet was satisfying. He slammed the door for good measure, and looked up just in time to see Emma start to face plant onto the bed. “No, Swan!” He threw himself in front of her as she fell, letting out a huff when she landed squarely on him. His shirt was already soaked, the mud transferring from her clothes to his was just the icing on one filthy, drenched and pissed off cake. He went to push her up and off until he realized she was crying. 

Another storm had come unexpectedly, the woods becoming a treacherous maze of bogs; even the most experienced outdoorsmen would find the task of propelling themselves through the sucking mud exhausting. The search party had been forced to pull back, Killian unwilling to risk the safety of his unit and the volunteers. Emma had been silent on the drive back to the shitty motel, but he knew she was just as upset as he they’d called it quits. All he could do now was wrap his arms around her, whispering in her ear.

“That’s it, darling. Let it all out.” Her shoulders wracked as she sobbed silently, her cold nose on his neck. Killian slid his hands up under her jacket, rubbing her back in soothing circles.

“We left a child out there, Killian. I’m so fucking angry with you.” The words were muffled, yet still managed to convey her exhaustion and heartache.

He swallowed hard. “I know, lass. I know. But we’d do her no good pulling resources away if anyone trying to help was hurt or lost themselves.” He pressed his thumbs on either side of her spine, running them up and down. She sniffled and shifted, her nose sliding from his collar up to his ear. Killian’s breath hitched and he wanted to kick himself for having a visceral reaction when she was clearly upset. He’d let Emma cry it out and exhaust herself of anger. They’d get some rest and be back at it when the storm passed. 

The press of her lips below his ear told him Emma thought otherwise. Killian couldn’t keep himself from responding as the gentle pressure turned into hot, open mouth kisses. He pushed her red, mud-slicked jacket off her shoulders, groaning as she wiggled against him, struggling to pull her arms out of the tight sleeves. Once her hands were free, one tangled in his hair as Emma’s teeth sank into his earlobe, flicking the soft skin as he tossed the bundle of leather to the floor near his own.

Killian nosed at her, breaking Emma’s bond with his ear with a yank of her hair. It left the smooth column of her neck open to do with what he pleased, and the sound she made when he nipped at her pulse point and soothed it with his tongue spurned him on. He pressed his mouth over her jawline, onto her cheek and barely brushed the corner of her mouth before Emma overwhelmed him.

The slant of her mouth and the wet slide of her tongue against his simultaneously took Killian’s breath away and gave him life. It was new, yet familiar, and a thousand fantasies in the shower couldn’t have prepared him for how much she felt like _home_. He couldn’t help skimming his hands onto to her ass, squeezing and memorizing the contours before continuing down to pull her knees up to rest on either side of his hips. It brought her core directly in contact with the bulge in his jeans. Licking into her mouth, he braced his feet on the floor and rocked his hips up experimentally.

Emma broke the feverish kiss, raking her nails up into his hair and exhaling a gasping moan that hardened his cock to steel. She began to move against him, dipping down with each roll of her hips to rub against the full length of his erection. Throwing his head back, Killian moved his hands to her ass again, helping her slide against him in a way that had them both breathing heavily.

When Emma sat up abruptly, he thought she’d changed her mind. As Killian went to lift his head, a hand slid from its anchor on his belly all the way to his throat, squeezing lightly as she pressed him back down to the mattress. _Jesus fuck_. Strong hands tore open his shirt, buttons clattering somewhere in the darkened room, followed closely by the shirt she’d pulled up and over her head. Fingernails raked through the unruly hair on his chest as Emma began moving over him again. 

Reaching an arm behind her back, Killian sat up as much as he could, anchoring her in his lap and sliding his other hand under her camisole to feel the pliant softness of her breast. The keening sound she made was all the encouragement he needed to begin thrusting up against her. Their gasping breaths turned into moans, moans turned into grunts and the banging of the bed into the wall as Emma met him thrust for thrust made the soundtrack of the room outright pornographic. The nails biting into his shoulders and the way her head dropped was all Killian needed to know she was nearing orgasm.

“Yes, that’s it. Take what you need.” Fingers pinched at her nipple as his other hand anchored on her ass, helping her find just the right rhythm. All it took was a few more thrusts before Emma arched her back. “Just like that, darling. Fuck, you are so beautiful. Come for me.” With one last thrust she fell apart in his arms. Rocking through the last of the aftershocks, Killian tried to gather her close, but Emma was already pushing away from him. He fell back onto his elbows, watching as she stood and backed away from the bed, flushed and gasping for air.

“I’m sorry. I was upset and I…that shouldn’t have happened.” Emma looked down to see her hardened nipples clearly on display through her thin tank top and crossed her arms over her chest. “I just needed...This is wrong.” She dropped her eyes and kept babbling. Killian stood and moved toward her, saying her name to get her attention. On the third try, he gave up and took her chin in his hand, pulling it up to look her in the eyes. 

“Do you regret it?” he asked quietly. Seeing the seedy underbelly of gross masculinity in both the Navy and the police force, Killian’s good form included being the type of man who only bedded willing women, and the thought he’d missed a cue and pushed her beyond her comfort zone horrified him. “Emma?”

Her head shook so slightly, he was sure he wouldn’t have noticed it had he not been touching her. “I don’t regret it. But you didn’t even…” Emma stepped back and waved her hand toward the thick ridge straining against the confines of his jeans.

A mix of relief and genuine amusement fueled the laugh that bubbled up and out. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been left wanting when it comes to you, love. Nothing a cold shower won’t fix.” He scooped his duffle off the floor beside the bed where it had fallen and systematically laid a pair of gray sleep pants, a worn shirt with “NAVY” printed across the front and a pair of black boxer briefs on the bed (after checking that none of the mud from her clothes had sullied the comforter.) When Emma busied herself opening her own bag on the other side of the bed, Killian discreetly adjusted himself in his pants. 

_Or not so discreetly._

He looked up to see Emma staring at him. “I could take care of that for you. It’s only right since…” 

“Since what?” he interrupted. “Since you got off and I didn’t?” Killian didn’t mean to sound angry, but it came out that way regardless as he made his way around the foot of the bed to where she was standing. “There is no quid pro quo here, Swan. I talk a big game and I’m more than willing to follow that up with action if it’s welcomed. I may not have made the best first, second, ninth and probably twenty-fourth impressions with you, but I’m not like that.” He dropped his voice to a low timbre. “Don’t get me wrong. If you said the word, I’d throw you down on this bed and fuck you until you screamed my name. And when you were ready, I’d fuck you again. And again, and again, until you were completely sated. But even if we went four rounds and I didn’t finish, I wouldn’t give a damn. Because now that I know how it feels to have you fall apart in my arms, making you come is all that matters.” He dipped his thumb into the dimple marking her chin and bent to kiss her chastely on the cheek before returning to his side of the bed and waving her toward the bathroom.

“Hot water awaits, milady.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning!

Chapter 7

 

“ _Garçon!_ A cup of your finest _café_!” Emma snapped her fingers at Jones. The sunrise peeking through the trees was blinding and she shielded her eyes just in time to see him flash her a grin as he slid two quarters in the ancient vending machine outside the lobby of their motel. 

“ _Oui, Mademoiselle, venir jusqu'à.”_ His accent sounded flawless to Emma’s ears, reminiscent of the teacher she’d had at one high school for a semester who’d actually been French. Taking the steaming cup he offered her, she looked suspiciously at the contents and took a sip.

“Christ on crutches, that’s awful.” Holding the flimsy paper with both hands, she let the warmth soak through her gloves. Bright sun aside, the air was chilly enough to see Killian’s breath as he blew on his fingers, waiting for the machine to finish filling his own cup. “How the hell do you speak French so well? I took it for a few years in school and can say about six words.” 

The moan that escaped his lips at the first taste of hot coffee made Emma’s belly clench as a highlight reel from the previous night played in her head. Heat and teeth and tongues, and an orgasm she would have sworn could not have made her knees weaker until Jones delivered that impassioned speech about fucking her into the mattress. 

She’d awakened before dawn, back pressed against his side. Slipping out of the bed, Emma tiptoed to the bathroom, glancing back as his sleeping form. Jones was stretched out on his back, hands slipped up under the pillow beneath his head. The blankets were pulled mostly to her side of the bed (whoops) and his shirt had ridden up, revealing a strip of toned abdomen and a trail of hair that disappeared into his sleep pants. Emma had briefly entertained the idea of getting back in bed and teasing the soft lump resting on his inner thigh to fullness before taking him in her mouth, and the mental image came back in a rush as the noise he made cut off with a swallow.

“You’d be surprised what you learn in the Navy, Swan. Foreign languages and the ability to appreciate a cup of coffee no matter how shitty.” He drained his cup, crumpled it into a ball and balanced it on the other contents of an overflowing trashcan. Emma passed hers to him with a disgusted look on her face and _drink up_ gesture. He shrugged. 

“Your loss, princess. Let’s head out.”

 **** 

The rendezvous point for the morning was filled with officers and volunteers milling around, waiting for direction Killian stepped up to provide.

“Good morning, everyone. After yesterday’s frustrating setback, I’m glad to see you all look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.” He caught Robin in the crowd yawning hugely. “Some more than others. We’re going to fan out in the same direction as yesterday. With the heavy rainfall, it’s unlikely footprints will visible unless they’re fresh. What we need to focus on are structures that could serve as shelter – rocks, tree formations and anything that looks manmade.” Killian gestured toward Emma. “As Sheriff Swan said in the initial briefing, Jefferson has spent a lot of time camping and is an experienced hiker. Grace hasn’t ventured very far outside of the town of Storybrooke and the surrounding area. He will not be able to move as quickly with her in tow as he could on his own. The storm last night may have felt like a stroke of bad luck, but if it slowed our roll, chances are it slowed his as well.” 

Killian clapped his hands together. 

“Let’s get out there. Take care of yourself and each other. No going rogue. Stick together. If you come across something that looks out of place, signal the law enforcement officer overseeing your grid and for the love of fuck’s sake, don’t touch anything. Thank you.” 

Save for low spots that were still waterlogged, the ground had firmed up in the pre-dawn hours. Killian didn’t need a weatherman to know that with the storms gone the temperature was going to drop considerably at nightfall. Near-freezing temps, lack of proper shelter and no dry wood available with which to make a fire would be catastrophic. 

He felt the adrenaline-fueled pull of _now or never_ and surveyed his team. All were giving their own version of a pep talk to their assigned group. Emma finished hers with an arm around a teary woman whom he knew to be Grace’s homeroom teacher. Swan had offered to work with the volunteers from her town the previous day before he could suggest it himself. She’d given him an exasperated look when he said he thought they made quite the team, but he knew she felt it, too. 

Regardless of the heightened stress and urgency surrounding the investigation, they had fallen into a smooth partnership steeped with intuition and respect. It was the kind of working relationship that, as a commanding officer, he hoped to see with all of his paired off subordinates. It felt natural despite the fact they were both stubborn and set in their ways. As natural as it had felt to have her moving over him, mouths fused together and his hands palming her ass. 

“Ugh, focus, Jones.” With one last look in her direction, Killian instructed his volunteers to stand an arms’ length apart and begin moving forward as a group. They used poles and long sticks to move brush aside and poke into deep bushes. Eyes swept methodically from surface to sky, looking for disrupted ground, cleared paths, constructed shelters or snags of clothing on low branches. Two hours in, the voices on the walkie talkies Zelena had driven up from Bangor hit DEFCON 1.

“We found something!” 

**** 

A volunteer under Locksley’s supervision had spotted a spot of pink on the ground, covered by a low canopy of brush. When she moved the branches back, she saw it was a muddied, ripped sleeve of a sweater. Grace was curled in the fetal position, covered with a men’s winter jacket and cold to the touch. The volunteer had screamed, fearing the child was dead, but Grace had opened her eyes at the sound. She was able to whisper, “My daddy said we could have a tea party” before losing consciousness. Paramedics had come in with a backboard and carried her to an ambulance, taking her to the hospital to treat her for hypothermia and dehydration. 

With the child safe, the search party was scaled back. Emma had pulled Jones aside, explaining that on more than one occasion, she had been called to the forest outside Storybrooke because hikers had heard Jefferson ranting and raving in the throes of a psychotic episode. 

“If there aren’t dozens of footsteps that sound like a herd of giants moving through the woods, we should be able to hear him. If he just got turned around in unfamiliar territory, he’ll be calling for Grace. If he had an episode, we’ll probably hear that, too.” Emma swiped one glove under her running nose and pulled her beanie down over her ears. “Why the fuck aren’t you cold?”

Jones’ nose and the tips of his pointed ears were red, but he was both hatless and gloveless. “I’m warm where it counts, Swan.” He took her hands and tucked them under his arms. She was so grateful for his heat on her fingertips, she couldn’t find a fuck to give that his detectives were nearby eyeing them and whispering among themselves. 

“Jefferson may not be so lucky. It’s possible he’s without a jacket since Grace was found wrapped in one.” 

Emma didn’t look at him until he said her name. No _Swan_ , or _love_ , or _lass_ , or any other cheeky term of endearment. 

“There may be nothing to hear if he’s hurt or succumbed to the elements.” Jones said it matter of factly, but the concern in his eyes matched how she felt. Emma pulled her hands back and slipped them in her back pockets. 

“Won’t know if we don’t get moving.” 

“Too right.” Jones pulled out his walkie-talkie and spoke into it loudly, with his lips pressed right on the microphone. “LOCKSLEY!” Robin jumped thirty feet away. “Quit standing around with your thumb up your ass. Let’s move.” 

“You'll look for any excuse to use that thing, won't you?” Emma rolled her eyes and turned the volume down on her own receiver. Jones poked his tongue into his cheek and raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re such a child.” 

“There are worse things to be, Swan.” 

**** 

Killian’s chest had surged with no small measure of pride when Emma’s suggestion to cut down the search party in order to zone in on noise panned out. A faint yell of came from a distance, then closer. Jefferson had crashed through the trees to their left, coming to an abrupt stop when he saw them. He was brown from head to toe, covered in dried mud, save for the blood from a wide gash on his right cheek and the blue of his lips. 

“Jefferson? It’s Sheriff Swan. Do you remember me?” Emma shook off Killian’s hand as he tried to keep her from moving closer. Not having a handle on Hatmacher’s current mental state and the fact that he’d drugged Emma at some point in the past gave him a serious case of the _oh, hell no’s_ and watching her walk closer to the man filled him with trepidation. He unzipped his jacket, flipping it up and over where his .45 was nestled in its holster. Killian unsnapped the strap of leather that held the gun in place and kept his hand on the butt, ready to draw. 

“She’s gone. She’s gone. I lost her. She’s gone.” Jefferson chanted it over and over again, louder until he was yelling, fat tears rolling through the dirt on his face. He paced back and forth, getting more and more agitated. Emma walked closer, hands raised, and began speaking to in a strong, steady voice. 

“Grace was found, Jefferson. Do you understand? We found her. She’s safe. Grace is at the hospital.“ Emma kept speaking, repeating Grace’s name over and over in a string of calm reassurances. Her eyes tracked him as he paced, methodically repeating that his daughter had been found and was safe. “Grace is at the hospital waiting for you, Jefferson. She said you promised her a tea party.” 

Tear-filled eyes met Emma’s. “You talked to her? You talked to my Grace?” 

Emma smiled gently. “I did. Grace is waiting for you. Grace would want you to come home in time for tea.” She caught Jefferson as he fell to his knees sobbing and wrapped her arms around him as he rocked. “She’s safe. Grace is safe.” 

**** 

“You’re still here.” Emma startled mid-yawn when Killian popped his head into the empty cubicle in the bullpen he’d set her up in before he’d gone upstairs to talk to the brass. By the time he came back down, most of his unit had cleared out and there were only fifteen minutes left before the ten o’clock shift change. The white board that had once sported photos of Grace and Jefferson and details of the case had been wiped clean. They’d both changed clothes since they’d last seen each other, and the only sign of the fact that they’d spent the better part of the week tromping through the woods was an errant stick in Emma’s hair. 

She stood, gesturing to the leather messenger bag strapped across his chest and the helmet under his arm. “Heading out? I was just about to make my way to my car. That drive back to Storybrooke won’t make itself.” Emma’s chin quivered as she tried to conceal another yawn, but Killian saw right through her. 

“It’s late and it’s been, if you’ll excuse my flawless French, a completely fucked up week. You should stay overnight and make the drive in the morning.” He moved closer to her. 

“I’ll be okay. Besides, with the luck I’ve had with hotel reservations lately, I’d probably end up renting a dumpster behind a place even shittier than the one we were stuck in.” Emma’s eyes widened as he reached his hands up over her shoulders and began fiddling with her hair. “What the hell are you – oh.” He handed her the stick he’d worked out of her ponytail, letting his knuckles brush the back of her hand. 

“Come home with me.” He blurted it out, louder than he intended and she froze. “I mean, not _with me_ with me. I have an extra room.” Killian could see the wheels turning in her head and a million excuses on the tip of her tongue. 

“I really should head out.” Emma stepped back and shouldered her own bag, elbowing past him. They took the same hallway to the parking lot and said polite, offhand goodbyes, parting ways after he congratulated her on a job well done and she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. 

He walked to where his motorcycle was parked, talking to himself under his breath. “Real smooth, asshole. Couldn’t have asked her on a date? Or offered to make her a hotel reservation on the department’s dime to keep it professional? Noooo, you had to make it sound like a goddamned offer to roll in the hay.” Killian angrily pulled on his helmet and kick started the bike with more force than necessary. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he saw someone in the street, kicking the tire of a battered yellow VW. Rolling to a stop, he yelled over the sound of the engine. 

“May I be of some assistance, milady?” 

Emma wheeled around. “First of all, fuck off with that ‘milady’ crap. I’m not a damsel in distress and you’re not a knight in shining armor. Second, you can call your traffic department and get this damn boot off my car.” She turned and wound up for another kick. 

“It says no overnight parking.”

“Jones, I will knock you off that fucking motorcycle and beat you to death with it, so help me God.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and held it up. “What’s the number for Traffic?” He recited it and waited patiently, counting down from ten in his head. “THEY’RE FUCKING CLOSED??” The screech that came out of Emma was both terrifying and the funniest thing he’d heard over the course of a very long week. He was still chuckling when the back of her hand smacked his chest. “It’s not funny, Jones.” The fight seemed to go out of her and her shoulders slumped. 

“Get on.” He jutted his chin toward the seat behind him, holding out his helmet in her direction as she looked at him suspiciously. “Swan. Don’t be difficult. You’re tired. It’s been a hellaciously long week. My place is fifteen minutes away. In twenty, you could already have your brushed your teeth, put on those cute little ducky pajamas you wore the other night and crawled between the sheets. It would take you at least that long to find a place with vacancy and get settled in a room.” 

She snatched the helmet out of his hand and put it on, neck wobbling a bit at the unfamiliar weight. 

“There’s a good girl.” Moving her bag cross-body to rest on the opposite side of the ones Jones had, she swung a leg over the back, settling behind him, her hands sliding around his waist. “If you wanted to hug me, you could have just said so. No need to stand on ceremony.” This time, she smacked him upside the head. He reached back and cupped behind her knee, pulling lightly to have her scoot forward, only letting go when he felt her chest pressed firmly to his back. 

“Hold on, love.” 

**** 

Twenty minutes later, Emma was not crawling between the sheets. She was getting the dime tour of the ridiculously gorgeous house Jones owned on the river. He seemed almost sheepish as she gaped at his kitchen, scratching behind his ear as she ran her hand over the sleek granite counter tops and counted more cabinets in the single room than she’d had collectively in a series of small apartments, like, EVER. There was a claw foot tub in one bathroom and huge windows in most of the living spaces showcased moonlight on the water. 

Forty minutes later, she was tucked on one side of his couch in front of a fire with a glass of red wine, unapologetically wearing her ducky pj’s and an oversized sweatshirt playing a bastardized version of Twenty Questions after they'd both admitted to a second wind.

Her favorite song changed according to her mood; he stood by Van Morrison’s “Tupelo Honey,” although with a long enough stare from her, he’d admitted he listened to a fair amount of Top 40. 

He absolutely loathed mushrooms; she couldn’t get enough onion rings. 

She preferred the beach to the mountains; he _couldn’t possibly pick one over the other, Swan_. 

He’d been engaged once while he was in the Navy and came home on leave to find his fiancée had shacked up with a much older man. She’d had a string of failed relationships whose dominant personality traits ran the gamut from _boring as fuck_ to _dickbag loser_. 

“How long have you been on your own?” The question was abrupt, but it didn’t surprise her. Spending the better part of a week in his company, she knew Jones could read people better than most. She twirled the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, staring at the liquid as she considered how to answer. 

“Always. I was found on the side of the road as a baby. Bumped around the foster system. Had a real shot of a forever home, but she got pregnant and pulled the plug on the adoption. Met a guy at seventeen. Got screwed, literally and figuratively.” She scowled harder at her, twisting her wrist to see how close she could get the wine to swirl up to the rim without spilling. “You know the story. Girl meets boy. Girl falls in love. Boy pins a minor jewelry heist on her. Girl finds out in jail she’s pregnant. Girl gives up the baby for adoption.” 

Emma blew out a breath and chanced a look at Jones. He didn’t look shocked. Or like he pitied her. He just looked…accepting and she didn’t know what to do with that. 

“What about you? Aside from the whorish fiancée.” Jones took a pull from the bottle of beer he held loosely. He grinned at her choice of words, the firelight accentuating his cheekbones. His jaw flexed, something Emma had seen plenty of during their time together and she took as a sign of anxiety or agitation. 

“A fair amount. Mom died when I was in high school. Dad took off. Liam had already graduated and looked after me until I had my diploma and enlisted. When I got out, he talked me into applying with the department. He was always there until…he wasn’t.” He blinked a few times. 

“Quite a pair,” Emma muttered. She held her glass out in his direction and he clinked his bottle against it. She felt the overwhelming urge to crawl under his arm, pull it around her and just breathe him in. It would somehow be both the easiest and most difficult thing she’d ever done. But she just couldn’t get past the _what ifs_ and her rampant fear of rejection to move an inch. “And on that note…” Emma stood and held her hand out to him to help him up. Jones looked at it for a moment, then grabbed it and allowed her to hoist him up. They walked to the sink to put her glass and his empty beer away then he showed her to her room. She turned at the door and quickly bussed his cheek. 

“I wanted to thank you, Killian. For everything.” He nodded and gave her another one of his dramatic bows. 

“Till the ‘morrow, Swan.” She smiled as she closed the door. 

**** 

She woke in an unfamiliar bed to the faint sounds of an unknown origin. For anyone else, it would be a shock to the system. For Emma, it was the story of her life. It only took her a split second to recall Jones and his pretty house on the water. Throat dry from the wine, she threw off the covers and padded to the door, heading down the stairs toward the kitchen. 

As she drew closer, Emma realized the faint sounds she’d heard were a combination of music and Jones singing along softly. He had a nice voice and she imagined it had gotten him laid more than once on karaoke night. She recognized the song; it was by The Strumbellas, and one whose lyrics had been stuck in her head more than once: 

_I spent a lot of nights on the run_

_And I think oh, like I'm lost and can't be found_

_I'm just waiting for my day to come_

_And I think oh, I don't wanna let you down_

He was standing at the sink looking out the window. A single lamp from the hearth room provided the only light, but it was enough for Emma to see the tension in his shoulders. He jumped when she ran her hands up his back and over the muscles, kneading and soothing them. 

“Did I wake you?” His voice was rough, either from lack of sleep or too much emotion as he reached and turned off the radio mounted to the bottom of a wall cabinet. She rested her forehead between his shoulder blades, stretching her arms around his waist. Jones was all soft hair and hard muscle as her hands stroked his belly. He exhaled. “Someday, Swan.” 

“Someday what?” She stilled her movement, waiting on a confession or a ball drop. 

“Someday you’ll see me at my best. I promise.” His voice broke on the last word and he turned, pulling her toward him. Strong arms enveloped her and she laid her head on his chest. Jones rested his chin on the top of her head and she felt a few tears land in her hair. Pulling away, Emma brought her hands to his face, forcing him to look at her. 

“I have. I’ve seen the way you work. How respected and revered you are.” Emma twined her hands in his hair. “I’ve seen you stand up for what’s right when you helped that woman with the asshole husband.” One hand slipped down, her thumb brushing his earlobe and over to his cheek, brushing a rolling tear away. “You’re always a gentleman. “ Emma kissed his cheek. “You basically let me use you as a humping pillow and didn’t expect anything in return.” He let out a choking laugh as she kissed his other cheek. “You can be sad, Killian. Sadness doesn’t make you weak. As long as you let yourself feel something else, too.” She touched his chest and smiled at him, relieved when he smiled back. His hands rubbed her upper arms for a few seconds and when he moved his hands, the wide neck of her sweatshirt slipped off her shoulder. 

Killian’s hand came back up, fingertips brushing her bared skin before running the length of her collarbone. He bent his head and kissed her along the same path. In seconds, one of his hands plunged down the back of her pajama pants, the other cupping the back of her head as he kissed the hell out of her until she had to pull away for air. _Fuck, the man could kiss._  

Determined this time to give as good as she got, Emma wasted no time touching or tasting every inch of him she could reach. Arms, back, neck, abdomen. The one hand on her ass became two as she scraped her teeth along his throat, his head thrown back and a positively filthy moan on his lips. Sliding a hand between them, she found Killian was already half hard and she relished the feel of him thickening even more under her fingers. 

Yanking the neck of her sweatshirt down, his hair tickled her nose as he bent to kiss the swells of her breasts. A warm hand palmed her from underneath and she gasped as his tongue slid over a nipple. Emma involuntarily clenched her fist around him and his mouth opened over her as another deep moan escaped him. Deciding she needed at least a three-peat of that noise, she slipped her hand into the waistband of his pants and around his cock. She slowly started to stroke him, sliding all the way from the base to the tip, twisting her wrist before sliding down again. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, leaning back against the counter, granting her space her to properly work him over, and Emma pulled out every trick in the book. By the time she sank to her knees, dragging his sweatpants down to the floor with her and licking a stripe up the underside of him, he was wrecked. 

But she wasn’t finished. 

Flipping her hair over one shoulder, she took him in hand and in one smooth motion, slid as much of his cock into her mouth as she could, swirling her tongue around the head. Killian’s fingers tangled in her hair and she looked up at him, sliding her fist and lips over him in tandem in a measured rhythm. The hand that wasn’t currently edging Killian closer to orgasm was braced on his thigh and the tremble of his legs made Emma double her efforts. 

Strong fingers clenched in her hair, stopping just short of pulling it. “Emma, darling, I’m not going to last much – _fuck_ – much longer. You are too good, love.” She took the devastated sound he made when she pulled off of him and stood, delicately brushing the corners of her slickened mouth with her fingers as a compliment. 

Standing naked in the moonlight, Killian was breathtaking. And she wanted more. Pushing her pants to the floor, she asked, “Do you remember what you said in that motel room?” He nodded, drinking in her bare legs. She stripped her sweatshirt off, standing before him in a pair of black boy shorts. “You told me all I had to do was say the word.” Emma reached for his wrist, stepping closer and guiding his hand between her legs so he could feel the dampness there. Moving so there was barely an inch of space between them, she went up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Fuck me.” 

The granite was colder than she expected and Emma would have yelped when her back hit it if she wasn’t completely overwhelmed with other sensations. Technically “fuck me” was two words, but Killian took direction well. In no time she was up on the counter opposite the sink, panties flung across the room, his tongue swirling circles around her clit and a long finger fucking her breathless. A large, warm hand was splayed across her stomach, simultaneously holding her hips down and rocking her into him. 

Killian’s head lifted and his thumb replaced his tongue. “So wet for me, sweetheart. And so sweet.” He licked his lips, tasting her essence as he slipped in a second finger. Emma’s back arched involuntarily and she didn’t waste a moment sliding her hand down over his to take over rubbing her clit. 

“Fuck, that is so hot. That’s it, darling. Show me how you like it.” As Emma did his bidding, she felt a rhythmic brushing against her leg and knew Killian had taken himself in hand. The thought of him stroking his cock aroused her even more and she begged for him to make her come. His fingers curled and moved faster, touching a spot that had legs shaking. It wasn’t long before she fell, screaming his name.

Gasping for breath, Emma’s head lolled as he hauled her off the counter, cupping his hands under her ass and rubbing her up and down his length. 

“Last chance to back out, Emma.” The feel of his erection sliding over her overly sensitive flesh balanced somewhere between pleasure and pain. She loved it. 

All it took was a whispered “I want you” and he was sliding into her inch by inch. The thick drag of him was exquisite, and her hands scrabbled for purchase on his shoulders. Lifting her bodily, he slid her up and down his cock, thrusting with his hips on every third or fourth pass. 

“Oh, God, you feel so good,” she breathed in his ear. Crossing her ankles behind his back, she moved against him, whispering filthy things that drove him to fuck her harder. When she felt him start to falter under the exertion, she dropped her legs and stretched until her toes hit the floor. He slid out of her and she spun around, elbows on the counter. Throwing him a coy look over her shoulder, Emma decided to see what Jones was really made of and gave him one last direction. “Don’t be gentle.” 

“Fuck, Emma.” Killian stepped behind her squeezed her ass, slapping one cheek and grinning wickedly when her squeal turn into a moan. He wasted no time slamming into her. The hand on her hips was hard enough to bruise, but she didn’t care. He was thrusting so hard her belly was pressed into the edge of the counter in no time. Emma felt her hair being gathered and wrapped around his hand and Killian used it to pull her back against him, grunting every time his hips hit her ass. “You are so fucking tight.” He pounded into her, reaching to roughly cup a breast and pinch her nipple. It was just past too much and exactly what Emma wanted. 

When Killian’s thrusts became erratic, she reached back and grabbed his ass, grinding back into him. “Wanna feel you come inside me.” Her words were all it took for his cock to swell as he pushed into Emma one last time, folding her flat onto the counter as he came, a litany of curses mixed with her name. 

They stood unmoving, locked together in his kitchen, their raggedy breaths filling the air. Emma’s ass stung from the slap. Her lips felt swollen and she was pretty sure it would hurt to walk in the morning. It was awesome. She giggled, causing her to flex around Killian’s cock. He jerked behind her, sweaty forehead pressed against the back of her neck. 

“The hell was that?” he mumbled into her hair. 

“What? This?” She flexed again and he jumped. 

“Dammit, woman…” 

Emma wiggled and his softening length slid out of her. Killian pulled her into his arms and kissed her temple. She listened to the tattoo of his heartbeat, lightly scratching her nails through the hair in the middle of his chest as he hummed. 

“I didn’t mean for our first time to be in my kitchen.” 

Emma thought about it, half-shrugged her shoulders and decided she couldn’t find a fuck to give (in the kitchen or elsewhere.) She took Killian’s hand and squeezed it. “I could fall asleep standing here. Take me to bed or risk losing me forever.” 

“You like _Top Gun_ enough to quote it?” he asked. Apparently deciding no clothes were the best clothes, Killian led her up the stairs and into his room. 

“Nah, I just watch it for the homoerotic volleyball scenes.” 

“Same.” A cheesy, sleazy grin accompanied his thumbs up and she laughed as she pointed to the bathroom. 

“Mind if I freshen up?” 

“What’s mine is yours.” 

As Emma cleaned herself up behind closed doors, cleaned her teeth with a dollop of toothpaste and her finger, and splashed cold water on her face, she thought about his last words. Killian Jones was a lot of things, but insincere was not one of them. She decided he meant it: _what’s mine is yours_ and she stood in front of the mirror, looking at her reflection as she rolled it around in her head, waiting for the panic to come. 

It didn’t come in the bathroom. It didn’t come when she slipped into his bed. It didn’t come when his arms came around her. And it didn’t come when he whispered, “Good night, love” in her ear.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

It came in the morning, the panic. Rising in her belly, the bitterness of Emma’s bone-deep instinct to pick flight over fight in 98.3% in all matters both personal and overtly familiar overpowered the cinnamon-laced sweetness of the hot chocolate Jones started to hand her, then pulled back at the look on her face. 

"Calm down, Swan, I'm not proposing." 

Snorting, she rolled her eyes as she snatched the mug. “You wish.” 

“Actually no.” He took his own cup off the complicated countertop espresso machine and daintily took a sip, leaning against the counter. Standing there in a pair of black boxer briefs, legs casually crossed at the ankle, hair in serious disarray and face unfairly alluring given the early hour, Jones was the picture of sinful domesticity. Emma couldn’t decide if she had a greater inclination to punch him or kiss him. “I mean have you _seen_ these floors? A man’s kneecap would fuse to the travertine in the time it took you to weigh the pros and cons, throw up twice and find an excuse to not answer.” 

He moved toward her, dropping a kiss on Emma’s slightly open mouth and said, “Come on, Swan. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll take you to your car. “ 

“You want me to go?” To her own ears, she sounded bitchy and argumentative. _Nice work, Emma. No mixed messages there._ She turned to follow him, watching his calves flex as he bounded up the stairs ahead of her. 

“No, but you want to leave.” 

Emma got to the door of Killian’s bedroom just as he disappeared into the adjoining bath. The shower started as she half sat/half leaned against the high corner of his bed, staring out at the river. It almost pissed her off how nonchalant he sounded, but if she’d learned anything about Killian Jones in the past week, it was that he thrived on being her counterpart. And, when she wasn’t free-falling into a years-long pattern of freaking the fuck out at dawn, Emma had to admit she felt stronger comforting him in the dark intimacy of his kitchen the night before than at the moment with a proverbial foot at the door. 

Killian’s voice near her ear made her jump. 

“Are you coming?” 

She turned to see him completely naked, half-erect. The look on his face was similar to the one he’d had when he’d drunkenly pressed her against her own police cruiser; this one had an air of sober purpose. Emma couldn’t even think of three words to string together before he’d sat down on the other side of the short, carved bedpost behind her. Clever fingers had already brushed aside her hair, danced over her shoulder and side, slipping under her sweatshirt. He cupped her breast, briefly teasing the nipple before abandoning the endeavor in favor of his intended target. Killian’s fingers dipped shallowly into her panties, toying with the sensitive skin just below the waistline. 

“Killian…round two was, like, three hours ago.” Most of the words came out breathy, the last one mingled with a gasp as his hand slid all the way in, long fingers coming down on either side of her clit. Massaging slowly, sensitive flesh caught between his digits as they circled, he chuckled and reached farther, fingers slipping inside, the leaning slant of her hips making it easy. 

Emma brought a hand up, curling it back behind his head, tangling her fingers in his hair and leaning back into him as he shifted to support her weight. The way he touched her was maddeningly slow and it didn’t take but a minute until she was dripping wet and aching. 

“Can you blame me for wanting you again before you go, darling? Especially when you’re this responsive.” He picked up his pace, the indecent rhythmic sound of his fingers in her wetness turning her on even more. Just when Emma was starting to feel that familiar pull in her belly (familiar with him anyway) Killian withdrew his hand and abruptly sat up. She started to curse him before he cleared the corner of the bed, pulled her to standing, quickly stripping off her panties and sweatshirt. Emma didn’t even have time to step out of the boy shorts puddled around her ankles before he was lifting her out of them and up over his shoulder. 

With a resounding _SMACK!_  Killian slapped her ass and walked into the bathroom, putting her down only when the shower door was open and crowding her under the water. As Emma slicked her hair back, he ducked his head, kissing her neck. 

“I believe I misspoke earlier. I should have said ‘you are coming’ and this time, love, it’ll be on my tongue.” 

Emma had a split second to note Killian did not hold shower tiles to the same knee-conserving standards as floors hosting hypothetical kitchen marriage proposals before his mouth was fused to her core. She thought his tongue was wicked in speech but _this_ …by the time Emma was close to orgasm he’d thrown one of her legs over her shoulder and had settled into steady circles on her clit with his thumb, talented tongue fucking in and out of her. By the time she was going over the edge, strong hands were clamped on her ass and the vibration of his groan as she pulled his hair only enhanced the flicks of his tongue. 

He barely allowed her foot to hit the ground before she was turned and pushed up against the wall, legs spread and slightly bent as he sunk to the hilt. Giving her no time to adjust to his size - not that she needed it after discovering that yet again, Killian Jones had well-earned the title of cocky bastard, at least when it came to satisfying a woman in bed - he set a fast pace. Wet hands slipped from hips and up torso until one arm was braced across her chest, wide palm holding a breast; the other pulling her shoulders back and coming to rest lightly around her throat. He snapped against her mercilessly. The arch of her back would have been uncomfortable if everything else Killian was doing didn’t feel so fucking good. 

“Is this too much, love?” Teeth scraped against Emma’s ear as a particularly hard thrust, a tug of her nipple and a gentle squeeze of the hand at her throat came in unison. Like Killian himself, it was too much and somehow not enough. She wanted to beg him to stop and pray he never would. In the back of her mind, Emma had hoped sex would scratch the itch that had been building but it had just made her want more. 

More of _this_ , more of _him_ , more of _them_. 

She’d even crawled over him in the night, stroking him to hardness and sinking down, letting him fill her in more ways than one. Killian had lain beneath her, whispering how beautiful she was in the moonlight. Emma had come with a sob; their fingers linked against the mattress above his head, choking a whispered “please” without being entirely certain what she was asking of him. He’d held her close as their breathing slowed, drifting off with her face still buried in the crook of his neck. In the light of day, it was easier to focus on _harder_ , _faster_ and she told him so, meeting him stroke for stroke in the steamy heat. 

Once Killian came, he’d sat her on the bench inside the shower and and brought her to another orgasm. Afterward, Emma had scrubbed his back and he’d used his shampoo to wash her hair, using his fingers to work out the tangles because _hair this naturally luscious doesn’t need conditioner, Swan._ The panic she’d felt earlier was receding and the only anxiety she felt as her arms circled his waist on the back of his motorcycle once more was the potential for prying eyes at the police department to watch her ride of shame it back into town at the ass crack of the A.M. following an obvious night in the company of the Captain. 

She was surprised when he pulled into a side driveway of a Fireside Inn and Suites before they reached the street on which her car was parked, pulled into a parking spot out of sight of the main road and cut the engine. Emma pulled off her borrowed helmet and dismounted, Killian close behind. 

“You take me to the nicest places, Jones. What—looking for round four?” He looked up at the motel with distain. 

“Swan, should I have the honor of your company for another round of amorous activities, I wouldn’t take you or your considerable blowjob skills to a two-star establishment.” 

Laughing, she curtsied awkwardly as he reached for his helmet. 

“Your car is that way,” he pointed to the left, “And this is for you.” He pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket. “It’s the direct number for the desk sergeant in Traffic and yes, they are open now. I figured you could call from here and either walk or take a cab the mile or so to the department to save professional face and your personal reputa-“ 

She cut him off with a kiss, hauling him toward her by the lapels of his jacket. Killian grunted in surprise, then wrapped his free arm around her and got into it. It was a mess of clacking teeth and tongues, and both were breathless when it ended. 

“That was…” 

“A thank you. For…everything.” (Later, she’d kick herself for gesturing toward his crotch.) She stepped back and slipped both hands in her own back pockets, giving him the space he needed to get back on his bike, helmet in place. Killian fired up the engine, but before he could ride off, she moved forward, touching his arm and he turned. 

“Don’t be a stranger.” She blurted it far too loudly even over the roar of the motorcycle and felt a hot blush run up her neck. He flipped up his visor, regarding her intently and Emma didn’t think she’d ever tire of the blue of his eyes. 

“Wasn’t planning on it, love.” Chalking up the pinpricks of tears in her eyes to fatigue and the connection they’d forged over a week of close quarters and heightened emotions. He pursed his lips, kissing the air in her direction and rolled out. Emma watched him go before taking the paper he’d slipped her and opening it. Under the desk sergeant’s name and number, she was hit with proof of his sincerity once more: 

In an elegant scrawl that wouldn’t look out of place on a handwritten map in the captain’s quarters of a pirate ship were the words “I’ll pick you up a week from Friday, eight o’clock. K.J."

 


	9. Chapter 9

There was no rest for the weary once Emma left Bangor. Killian’s unit had been running ragged chasing a string of robberies. One of the rookie patrol officers in the department had likened the crime spree to the Hydra– cut off one head and another grows back. While he’d joined the good-natured jabs at the detective’s expense over his ability to weave a Captain America analogy into damn near anything (including his uniform if the shield-adorned undershirts were any indication), Killian found the description astute. 

They were always a step behind and the brass had shut down his request for more manpower, using the amount of resources that went into the search for Grace and Jefferson as an excuse. It wasn’t until a gas station clerk was pistol-whipped five days into it for moving too slowly emptying the register that Killian was able to score some approved overtime to offer his detectives’ services. The only thing the higher ups hated more than a busted budget was the media shitstorm and scrutiny that came with citizen bloodshed.

It was the approval for overtime that found Killian sitting in a 24-hour diner with Locksley and Will, letting a second cup of  _why the fuck are you still up o’clock_  coffee go cold and a slice of peach pie uneaten. The two detectives were tossing out ideas about who was responsible for the robberies. The late (or early) hour had the theories ranging from vaguely ludicrous (an unknown kingpin who had set their sights on running the seedy underbelly of Bangor Fucking Maine of all places) to accusations Will needed to get out and find a woman because his lone nights with Netflix meant he could no longer separate reality from fantasy (hence the suggestion they team up with the Ninja Turtles to stop the Shredder’s foot soldiers.

Barely paying attention when the two started bitching at each other, Killian chose not to take sides, instead telling them they were both fucking morons. In truth, he’d barely been paying attention to their animated conversation in favor of texting Emma. She was on the night shift, too – although hers wasn’t the second half of a double – and, according to her last message, “bored as all fuck-out.” 

Grinning, Killian quickly typed back a salacious invitation to provide her with some entertainment via fucking, as was habit since she’d returned home and their relationship, whatever the hell it was, became long distance. Not that it was all sex. The method of communication had her opening up more than he would have expected, and he found the same was true of himself. Their conversations ranged from serious to the absurd – an argument over how many “alrights” there were in Outkast’s “Hey Ya” and both too stubborn to Google for verification at the risk of being found wrong - but for every few of those, there was one that had him hard and aching for her.

The worst was an unsolicited photo that came four days after they’d said goodbye at the motel. Her face wasn’t visible, but Killian would recognize the rest of her anywhere. Emma was kneeling on a bed, legs spread. The hand that wasn’t holding the phone was between her thighs. He’d almost had an aneurysm during a brainstorming meeting and called her the second he was in his truck and on his way home. She answered on the first ring, sugary-sweet and innocent, the polar opposite of the photo. 

“You are a very naughty girl, love.” Her giggle was music to his ears and made him impossibly harder in his jeans.

“What’s the matter, Captain? Not your…taste?” He could have sworn he heard Emma lasciviously licking her own essence off her fingers and her voice had been dripping with sex. He’d barely made it inside his front door before he’d talked and teased her into orgasm. She was coming, moaning his name when he unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock and stroked it twice, spilling over his fist in the entryway.

Tonight, they kept it light, texting back and forth about their date after getting the requisite flirting in. Killian had done some research and was taking her to a surf and turf place on the water with wine, candles, and tablecloths – everything bulk of time together wasn’t. It was such a welcome distraction from Detectives Frick and Frack who couldn’t shut the fuck up if someone duct taped their mouths that he completely missed Robin asking him a question until he was repeating himself. Loudly.

“I said, give the good Sheriff my regards.”

“Will do.” Killian realized a second too late he’d spilled the beans and looked up to see Locksley shoot him a shit-eating grin while a grumbling Will passed $20 to his partner. 

“Knew it!” Robin crowed, kissing the bill his partner had handed him.

Killian slumped on the other side of the booth and shoveled a too-large bite of pie in his mouth. “Joke’s on you, asshole. He probably nicked that from a lap dancer’s jizz-soaked G-string.” Killian laughed rudely around his food as Robin’s face turned from glee to disgust and he started licking his sweater sleeve to get the taste of secretion-tainted money out of his mouth. “Seriously, though. If you two yahoos tell anyone, I’ll kick your dicks so far up into your body cavities, you’ll be blowing yourselves.” 

Robin crossed his heart. “You have my word. So is it serious or just, you know…” He smoothly transitioned into poking the index finger from one hand through the circled thumb and forefinger of the other in the universal, and wholly immature, gesture for sex.

Killian slapped his friend’s hands. “We’re going out in…” he looked at his watch. “Seventeen hours. Shift ends at six. I’ll go home, get some shuteye. Do minimal work on this,” he gestured to his face, “Because we all know perfection is hard to improve upon. Make the drive to Storybrooke with flowers and show her a good time.” He rolled his eyes as Robin and Will exchanged knowing nods. “A gentlemen never kisses and tells. Not that you two Neanderthals would know a damn thing about that.” He gestured for the check and shoved it in Will’s direction. “I need to save my on hand cash for my date and Robin is going to be shelling out shortly for some blood tests to make sure he didn’t contract syphilis from that twenty. You’re paying.” 

Killian hushed his detective’s complaining and turned the volume up on his radio.

_“Possible 10-31 in progress at JG Pawn Shop, 99 Center Street. Silent alarm tripped.”_

Three streets over. He stood and radioed back that they were en route, sidestepping so Will could toss more than enough to cover their bill and a generous tip on their table. He took backseat in his detectives’ unmarked car once they’d strapped on their vests and listened over the siren as they ran through their approach and a reminder that one of the prevailing (and actual) theories about the string of robberies is that they were using convenience stores and gas stations as practice for a bigger target.

The pawnshop wasn’t exactly an  _Ocean’s Eleven_ -esque knocking over of a casino, but it did have plenty of valuables. Even a half-assed grab inside the jewelry case would yield a better score than the few hundred dollars in cash getting stolen from registers across town. This was the first hit on the shop Killian recalled in his years with the department. Even scarier than getting caught trying to illegally lighten the inventory of the place and being taken to jail was the shop’s owner.

Nobody knew what the “J” stood for, but the “G” was for Gold.  _Mister_ Gold, he would correct anyone who dared leave out the title. He put just enough of a hiss for it to sound snakelike, and the description matched the man himself: small in stature, but big in arrogance, assholery and shrewd business dealings. Anyone so much as an hour late repaying their loan were six tons of shit outta luck getting their stuff back. Gold would  _tsk tsk_  his angry customers, reminding them they hadn’t held up their end of the bargain and call Bangor’s patrolling finest if they so much as cursed under their breath at him to have them removed from his property.

He had been a vocal critic of the police department as of late, accusing them of not doing enough to protect local business owners and their employees from the influx of crime.

The radio cut back in:  _“10-00 at 99 Center Street, repeat, officer down at 99 Center Street.”_  Robin floored it even harder for the last block and pulled into the parking lot at an angle.

The other cruiser’s lights lit up the front of the store, a dizzying flash of blue and red. On arrival, Killian had seen two figures huddled behind the open passenger door of the vehicle. He threw his own door open wide and got out, crouching behind it as he unholstered his weapon. Telling Robin and Will to cover him, he dashed to where the officers were.

One was on his side, breathing short, rapid breaths. His uniform shirt had been ripped open and vest unbuckled at the shoulders, shoved away from his body just enough for his partner to be able to use her own shirt to apply pressure to the gunshot wound in his armpit. Shoved away from his body just enough for Killian to catch a glimpse of the Captain America shield on his undershirt.

_Fuck._

His partner looked like she was shell-shocked and was babbling incoherently about what had happened until Killian barked, “Officer! Report.” It pulled her out of the hysteria enough for him to learn she and her partner - ironically named Rogers - had been a block away when the 10-31 came through. Even though they heard another car was taking the call, they figured the more manpower the better given the recent hits in the area. They hadn’t even cleared the front of their car on approach when a single shot rang out. Rogers dropped and she had dragged him out of the line of fire to the other side of the car and radioed in there was an officer down .

“Did see where the shot came from?” 

“Not exactly, sir. But Rogers was advancing on the front of the store at an angle, gun up and got shot through the armhole of his vest from the left. If I had to guess, it came from the right window.” 

Killian nodded. Robin had stopped the car well behind and at an angle to the patrol officers’ vehicle, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He motioned for Will to climb through the car and take cover with Robin on the driver’s side. Just as the detective was pulling himself over the center console on his belly, two shots rang out, one hitting the door Will had been behind, the other traveling through the cruiser’s windshield. He fell out of the car onto the ground in a heap next to Robin, who started patting him down to see if he was hit.

Killian aimed his .45 in the space between the car and open door, but couldn’t get a bead on a target before another shot rang out, this time in his direction. “Jesus Christ.” He ducked, breathing the oath as a curse against the clearly targeted shooting. “Dispatch, more shots fired. Number of gunmen unknown. Suspect looks to be targeting law enforcement. Requesting Emergency Response Services be mobilized.” Yelling over the wail of sirens as backup arrived, he turned to Robin and Will. “Rogers needs to be carried out. The ambo won’t be able to get close enough for medics to come get him if there’s an active shooter and ERT is at least thirty away from rolling.” Killian looked directly at Will. “You okay?” 

“I’ll need to change my pants thanks to the spontaneous release of my bowels, but otherwise…” Will blew out a breath and half-assed a sign of the cross.

Three other units had joined them, fanning out to block the street, and it didn’t take coordinating efforts to get Rogers off the ground and into an ambulance waiting on the other side of the blockade. Robin would provide front cover – he didn’t earn the nickname “Archer” at the shooting range for nothing. Will would take Rogers’ feet and Killian, his shoulders. The other officers were poised to return fire at the storefront should some shit go down.

Once everyone was in position, Will used hand signals for a silent countdown. On three, he picked up Rogers’ ankles and Killian linked his elbows under the officer’s armpits. It was hard to move quickly in a crouch and Rogers was getting jostled around far more than his delicate condition could stand, especially when the gunman opened fire again and they had to hit the deck.

“God dammit!” Killian looked at Will. “We’re going to have to go for broke here. He can’t take much more of this shit with a collapsed lung.” Will nodded and signaled to the sergeant by the closest cruiser they were making a run for it. Once again, each hefted Rogers. “Go!”

A deafening exchange of gunfire rang out. He saw Will tripping over his own feet in their rush, losing grip on Rogers’ ankles. Killian lurched, suddenly taxed with more of the burden of the unconscious officer’s weight. He dug in, almost in squat position and used his legs and his back to propel himself and Rogers up and backward, adjusting his grip with each drag. Killian made it another few feet before he felt it - the searing pain.

Killian heard Will scream, “Captain!” as he went down. Rolling onto his back, he touched his neck, hand coming back covered in red arterial blood from the bullet wound. Before he passed out, all he could think of was Emma. 

 


	10. Chapter 10

_He’s been shot._

That’s exactly what his detective, Locksley, had said when ten o’clock rolled around. Jones was two hours late for their date and Emma had broken her standard operating procedure of never chasing a man. She called Killian ready to eviscerate him with a speech she had been rehearsing since eight-thirty but a vaguely familiar voice answered instead. 

“Sheriff Swan? It’s Robin Locksley.” 

“Oh. Hello, detective.” Emma had cursed herself, hoping she sounded less awkward than she felt and significantly more professional. All of the piss, vinegar and scathing retort was put on hold, replaced by no small amount of embarrassment at being caught calling a colleague (of sorts) after hours. “I was hoping to speak with Captain Jones.” 

“He’s…Emma, he’s been shot.” Robin was giving her a rundown over the phone as she grabbed her bag and slipped on the pair of fuck me pumps she’d bought for a night out with a skip years before. They went well with the skintight red dress she’d also bought for the same occasion and hadn’t considered wearing again until she decided she wanted nothing more than to watch Killian Jones’ jaw drop when she opened her front door for their first date. In another time and place, she’d be giving herself a little pat on the back for having the ability to break into a dead run out to her car wearing both. “…taking fire and he was hit trying to move an injured officer outside the perimeter for medical attention.” 

Her head swam. 

There was more. Something about _nicked_ _carotid artery_ , _surgery_ , _still unconscious_. When she’d hung up the phone, it had been Emma’s turn to break every speed limit between Storybrooke and Bangor. No slick, racy motorcycle or new(er) truck for her; just a Volkswagen Bug whose steering column had one hell of a shimmy over fifty-five miles per hour, a lead foot, and desperate a need to see Killian for herself. 

Never one to use her badge for personal gain – not for cutting in line at Starbucks or even getting out of paying a hefty fine for her parking snafu the other week – she’d flashed it to gain access to Killian’s room. The pretty, young nurse gave her outfit a judgy once-over, but Emma didn’t stop to flash the woman her patented resting bitchface treatment. If she had a back-up superpower to the lying thing, it would definitely be shutting down petty women, pushy men and evasive suspects during interviews with a single blistering glare. Emma rushed into the room, stopping short at the sight of him in the narrow hospital bed. An involuntary gasp came out of her mouth, and she clapped her hands over it, doing her best to hold back tears as Robin stood. He crossed the room, warm hands on her chilled upper arms. In her rush, Emma hadn’t bothered slipping on a coat. 

“Thank you for coming.” 

“I…he…we…” The tears fell over and Robin nodded sympathetically, handing her the tissue he had wadded in his hand. 

“I know. Will and I tricked it out of him, so don’t go punishing him for kissing and telling when he wakes up.” 

 _WHEN._ The word held both promise and hope, and Emma clung to it. 

Once Robin was gone, she stood by Killian’s bedside. He looked fucking _awful_ ; a mess of electrode pads, tubes, and IVs. The neat, white bandage on his neck was the most innocuous part of his current state if she ignored the fact it was there because he’d been shot. She was afraid to touch him, to hold his hand with the IV tubes taped to it. She’d settled for brushing his hair back and leaning over, careful to not disturb anything as she pressed her mouth to his. Tears fell from her face onto his before she stood watching. The fleeting hope they were living in a fairy tale and her kiss would magically wake him was silly, but she waited a moment anyway. 

Pulling the chair Robin had abandoned even closer to the bed, Emma waited, eventually drifting off after the third time a nurse came in to check his vitals. 

**** 

"Hello, beautiful."

The voice was gravelly and strained, somehow both pinched with pain and soothed by morphine. Emma startled in the hard visitor’s chair and blinked the remnants of a fitful sleep stacked on top of hours of ugly crying from her eyes. Just speaking made Killian cough and she reached for a hospital-issue plastic cup. She had been filling it with ice every hour, determined to have some on hand if (no, _when_ ) he woke. Thanks to her nap, all Emma could offer him now was a sip of room temperature water, holding the straw as he took a sip and licked chapped lips. 

“I believe I’ll have to postpone our date.” She chortled. Killian moved his fingers, motioning Emma to sit and when she did, he brushed the backs of them against the red fabric covering her backside. “It’s a damn shame, too. This is quite fetching. Did you wear it for me?” 

“Hell, no. I wore it for someone who isn’t out there angling to win Dead Guy of the Year. But you should see the shoes. I’m sure the next man who asks me out AND bothers to show up instead of going to all this,” she gestured to the situation as a whole, “To get out of it will appreciate them as much as you would have." 

His chuckle was almost completely devoid of humor– a feat for someone who she’d come to know as someone who found damn near everything funny – and he winced. 

“Damn, that hurts.” 

Emma wasted no time pushing the call button for the nurse. The responder turned out to be the same woman who’d side-eyed Emma’s dress and shoes all those hours ago, and she didn’t hesitate to oversell her bedside manner, telling Killian how amazing he looked for a gunshot victim and fawning over his heroics as she caressed his chest just a little too intimately as she checked on his TEN patches. For his part, Killian played up his natural state of giant flirt - shooting a teeth-grinding Emma a wink - right up until the nurse put no small spin on her offer to provide him with _anything_ he needs during his stay. 

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, lass. My girlfriend here does an excellent job tending to my…needs.” 

The nurse – her name badge read Tink and Emma could barely hold in the audible scoff - finished her actual job, told Killian she would inform his surgeon he was awake. She huffed out of the room without so much as a glance toward Emma and she sat back down on the minute space the narrow bed allowed. 

“Girlfriend, huh?” Elation at the title and all of its possibilities mixed with a good, old-fashioned influx of underarm sweat and her natural scent of _eau de forever alone_. Emma could barely stand to be inside her own head when her brain pulled this sort of shit. She was about to barf out an answer when Killian sighed. 

“ _Still_ not a proposal, Swan. Merely an abstract wish made by a man who was nearly shuffled loose this mortal coil to join the Underworld as the right hand of Hades. And a concrete way to piss off the Lady Bell of the cold fingertips and absence of class or manners.” His tongue poked out. “Although I wouldn’t say no to you dressing up in a nurse’s outfit and –“ Whatever salacious suggestion he was about to make was interrupted by Will and all of his herky jerky energy walking through the doorway, hitting his shoulder on the jamb. 

“Captain, we overheard a nurse saying you’d woken up.” He nodded toward Emma and stood, twisting his fingers. “I’m so sorry, man. If I hadn’t dropped his feet, you never would have…This is all my fault.” 

Emma got up and went to Will, putting an arm around his shoulder. She led him to the chair near the bed, guiding him down onto the seat. She couldn’t imagine how he felt, and knew that no matter what anyone said, he’d feel responsible. Killian, years in command under his belt, most likely knew the same but didn’t let him stop from trying. 

“I don’t want to hear it. We all go out there every day not knowing what’s going to happen. There are far too many variables out there, mate. But _he’s_ the asshole, Will. Remember that.” Emma saw him swallow hard. “Rogers?” 

Will was sitting hunched with his head in his hands, palms wet from crying. He shook it. “Didn’t make it.” Killian’s eyes closed and she could see him fighting back his own tears. “By the time we got you both out, he was in a really bad way. The medics had him and tried to re-inflate his lung but it had already compressed blood vessels and everything else. They pronounced him DOA when he got here.” 

Emma touched Will’s arm and walked around the foot of the bed to take Killian’s hand. Nobody in Storybrooke had died from anything other than natural causes or illness during her tenure as Sheriff. She’d done a handful of notifications to family alongside Dr. Hopper, but she had never experienced getting seriously injured in the line of duty or losing one of her officers. Killian was handed a shit sandwich piled high with both at once. 

She sat listening as the two men talked about Rogers. He was twenty-three and newly engaged to a girl he had always sworn he’d loved all of his life. A comic book and superhero aficionado, he had joined the Bangor PD “to make a difference and do the right thing by its citizens, sir” as he’d told Killian during his interview. Eager and hardworking, Rogers had taken a fair rash of shit as a rookie, but he’d had a significant amount of potential and ambition, going so far as telling his Killian once that his goal was to wear Captain bars someday. 

For two hours, they laughed and cried over their fallen comrade before Will received a text and said he had to go. Emma kissed Killian’s forehead and told him to try and rest; that she was going to head down to the vending machines to see if she could score a cup of coffee – _fingers crossed it’s less shitty than that crap at the motel you loved so much, Jones_ – and followed Will into the hallway, a twinge of guilt over her half-truth. 

“How’s the investigation going?” Emma didn’t even have to preface her question with any niceties. She knew Will was expecting it. 

“Believe me when I say nobody’s sleeping until we find who did this. Chief Hunter has every single pair of boots in the department on the front line. He’s been calling in favors up and down the state. Robin just sent a text with the latest out of Ballistics.” He looked up and down the hallway, still deserted in the post-midnight hours, and pulled her further away from the door to Killian’s room. “I’m going to ask you to keep something from him. I know it’s unfair as hell and I don’t want to screw up this thing you have going, but the Jones is already dealing with a lot of crap and he doesn’t need anyone piling on. He’s going to have a million questions we don’t have answers for yet.” 

She nodded and switched from concerned _maybe sorta girl_ friend mode to cop mode. If there’s anything at which Emma Swan excelled it was compartmentalizing, and she had a feeling she would need to draw on all of her training and experience as an objective observer given Will's demeanor.

“We’ve already determined there was a single shooter. When they ran the ballistics from the bullets, it came back with a hit on an unsolved.” Will’s face hardened. “The firearm that wounded him yesterday killed his brother five years ago. Killian and Liam were shot with the same fucking gun.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty, smut, smut. Oh, and angst.

Chapter 11

 

“For the love of Christ, Killian. You’re supposed to be resting.” Emma pinched the bridge of her nose for what felt like the eightieth time in the two days since he’d been released from the hospital. She should have known he’d be a terrible convalescent. The signs were certainly there in hindsight. 

She watched him be polite and charming while under the care of white coat professionals. If Emma hadn’t been so damn stressed out and paid closer attention, she would have also seen him angling to leave every time Dr. Whale came to check on him, and caught the flex of his jaw as a veteran battle axe of a nurse coolly ignored his blatant flirting in an attempt to circumvent the hospital policy that all ICU patients exit the facility in a wheelchair. 

So far at home, she’d caught him trying to sneak out to the garage to put oil in his motorcycle, out on the back deck watering plants, attempting to pull-start the lawnmower and the most frequent offense - pulling up his work email on his phone while he was supposed to be napping. 

“Do I have to pat you down every time I tuck your ass in bed?” 

“You’d hear no objections from me, Swan. Pat down, rub down…whatever you think is necessary.” His tongue poked in his cheek, eyebrows doing _that thing_ , hands waving around even more dramatically than usual. “And do be thorough, love. Don’t be afraid to _really_ get into it.” 

Emma rolled her eyes so hard she swore she sprained something. “I didn’t take two weeks’ vacation to help you out just to watch you ignore doctor’s orders and give you handjobs.” She paused. “And stop that.” 

Killian ceased whistling the refrain from Louis Armstrong’s “What A Wonderful World” and his lower lip dropped into a pout. “Amorous activities are off the table for three weeks and you won’t even let a man dream? Maybe I should call that lovely blonde nurse to stop by and help cure what ails…what was her name?” 

She didn’t even bother to hide the murderous look in her eyes before she turned to grab her overnight bag out of the closet and started tossing her things inside. If there was anything years in the foster system taught her, it was efficiency packing.

“You know what? Fuck you, Jones. I don’t need this crap. Call Will and Robin. I’m sure they’ll be happy to jump off their investigation into who shot you in order to come babysit. Enjoy the next few weeks of listening to Robin try and pull off awkward phone sex with that woman he’s been seeing and having Will inject your couch with beer farts and rack up your cable bill buying pay-per-view porn.” 

Emma was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and she didn’t need this. Or him. Or the promise of relationshippy, albeit temporary, domesticity that may or may not have been half the motivating factor in her offer to come stay with him. She may be secretly trying a life with Killian Jones on for size (with a very large out at the end, thanks to the built-in time constraint – perfect for Emma Swan, Professional Flight Risk) but that didn’t mean she was going to spend half a month being his proverbial punching bag. 

She could feel him following her as she moved down the stairs with her bag at a breakneck pace, a fleeting twinge of guilt at the fact that chasing her was exactly the opposite of resting. She made it to the front door and swung it open before he grabbed her arm, turning her toward him. It made her blood boil. 

“Get off me,” she snarled, shaking herself free. “I am not here for you to shit on or treat like crap. I had a trip planned –“ _lie because where the hell would she go for two weeks alone?_ “- And instead of using MY time off for myself, I’m using it to help YOU recuperate. If you’re going to run yourself down by ignoring Dr. Whale AND allow the piggish behavior of Drunk Killian make a guest appearance disguised as Pain Medication Killian, you and all of your different personalities can go fuck yourselves. With or without the help of that nurse.” 

 _My place: I have officially been put in it._ That was the look on his face by the time she was done. Shoulders slumped, he scrubbed at his face with one hand wincing as his thumb brushed the edge of the long red line on his neck comprised of stitches and the scraping trajectory of the bullet. 

“I… _fuck_. My apologies, Swan. There’s no excuse for my boorish behavior. Truth is, I’m not all that good at downtime.” His hand moved to scratch lightly behind his ear. 

“You don’t say,” Emma deadpanned.

“Look, between the Navy, the job and bachelorhood, I run hard and fast and do what I want, when I want off duty. I’ve not had to make concessions for someone else in my personal life in a long time or step aside professionally since the investigation into Liam’s death.” Killian blew out a breath. “And that was all of a split second, because there was no evidence. No thread to pull. You know that feeling you get when you have nothing? Everyone in the department felt it. And now I’m being shut out of this investigation, too. Not even a goddamned email from my own unit to let me know how things are going.”

Emma swallowed, feeling licks of shame creep down her spine as she touched his arm and lied to his face. 

“You know how it is with things like this. A lot of desk riding to follow up on phone line tips and pavement pounding into dead ends. I’m sure it’s just as frustrating to have nothing to report.” _Ugh, just hop in that hand basket, Emma, and ride it straight to hell._ She reached up to brush a floppy piece of hair off his forehead, running her fingertips down the side of his face. She let her hand hover over his wound, wishing she could make it disappear. 

Killian dropped his forehead to hers and they stood quietly for a moment. Emma absorbed what he’d said, knowing she’d be hard pressed to feel differently if she were in the same position. 

“Well, isn’t this cozy.” If the sudden interruption hadn’t already startled the piss out of Emma, the creepy giggle that followed certainly would have. She turned to see a short, slight man leaning on a cane. He was remarkably well dressed; black on black on black aside from the cream colored scarf around his neck. The woman standing next to him was also impeccably dressed. Emma couldn’t recall how many similar outfits she’d pinned to a board titled “My Style” on Pinterest that were really more wishful thinking. Short full skirts, feminine blouses, thin belts, fitted wool coats, tights and sky-high heels that were somehow both sexy and demure. 

The man saw Emma eyeing his companion and stepped forward shifting his weight and hanging his cane over his elbow, hand extended. 

“Sheriff Swan, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mr. Gold and this is my wife, Belle.” 

Emma reluctantly shook his hand, brow furrowed. The touch of his hand made her feel unclean. She knew from her agents in the field – Will and Locksley – that he owned the pawnshop where Officer Rogers and Killian had been shot. Even if she subtracted that from the equation, there was something about him she found unsettling, a darkness crackling under the surface. He was a stark contrast to his wife, a well-appointed ray of sunshine standing slightly behind her husband with a cheerful yellow casserole dish in her hands. 

“Captain Jones.” The hand she had shaken was extended past her now, an arm almost pushing Emma back against the doorjamb. Killian took the hand begrudgingly and she saw the anger flash in his eyes as Gold pulled him closer as they shook. _What in macho power play hell?_ “I heard you were at home recovering.” 

Killian dropped his hand quickly enough for it to be considered borderline rude and Emma didn’t miss him rubbing his palm on his lounge pants as if wiping off transferred filth. “I wasn’t aware that was the sort of information that made the gossip rounds.” 

Gold’s smile was both insincere and nearly crocodilian. “I make it a business to know what goes on in my town, Captain.” He gestured toward Emma. “What a lovely nursemaid. It must be a nice change for you not to be alone. Or were you on your way out, Sheriff?” He looked pointedly at the she’d bag dropped in the doorway. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Emma said it as much for Killian’s benefit as Gold’s. She wasn’t leaving. Not as long as a creepy pawnbroker spouting forced niceties while looking like he’d sooner cut off Killian’s hand than kiss it could drop in on him at any time. She announced Killian was overdue for a nap, shooting him a _don’t fight me on this_ look, graciously thanked the Golds for coming by and took the casserole dish out of Belle’s hands, turning it over to Killian. 

Standing on the porch, Emma watched as the couple made their way to a pristine Cadillac and drove away. She ushered Killian inside and picked up her bag, stepping back into the foyer and kicking the door closed with her heel. 

“I’m not eating that.” Killian poked the casserole dish he’d put on the counter. He was the image of a petulant child. 

Emma snorted and looked at the clock. He was due for another dose of meds. She shook one out of the bottle and grabbed a glass to fill with water. Handing them over, she watched him closely as he swallowed the pain pill then crossed her arms and frowned at him until he opened his mouth to show he’d swallowed it. 

“Tongue.” 

Killian scowled and lifted it so she could see he wasn’t hiding the pill underneath. “I only did that once.” 

“It was twice and both times you spent the night kicking my ass because you hurt too much to sleep. Act like a criminal, get treated like one, Jones.” She shrugged and reached over to lift a corner of the foil covering the dish Belle had brought. “Smells good.” She grumped when he lightly smacked her hand. 

“Didn’t you see how fucktastically creepy that man is? Who the hell knows what’s in this.” 

“What – you think he put his wife up to spiking a get well soon dish? The woman who looks like she couldn’t chip a teacup without her eyes welling with tears? Sorry, princess. You’ll have to wait for the evil queen to show up on your doorstep with a poisoned apple to live that fairy tale.” To prove her point, Emma pulled a fork from a drawer and took a healthy bite from the dish. “Oh, God, this is good.” The sound that came from her throat was nearly orgasmic. 

“I thought I was the only one who could get you to make that sound, Swan.” Killian leaned over and took a sniff of the lasagna. “Ew, is that e _ggplant_?” 

Guess her assessment about the whiny kid and vegetables wasn’t too far off the mark. 

Emma took another bite and talked around the flavors of spicy tomato sauce, undoubtedly homemade, and garlic. “You’re out of commission for a while, buddy. A girl’s gotta get her rocks off somehow.” Two more quick bites and the dish went into the refrigerator, foil firmly back in place. 

**** 

Five days later, she had Killian tucked in bed and was sitting in the chair in the corner of his room playing catch up with an update Will had finally sent. She hadn’t had a lot of time to herself playing nanny and nursemaid. Information had been slow to come and she felt no small amount of guilt texting Killian’s friend behind his back. He’d conversationally asked who she was messaging a couple of times and the easy lie of “my deputy” had fallen from her lips with surprising ease. The overt shadiness of it all had caused her to ask for an email instead. 

_Emma,_

_Add this address to your contacts. I can’t send you anything through department email – gotta keep it off the books._

_Here’s what we know so far:_

_A partial bloody palm print was found on the inside the ledge of the broken window in front of the pawnshop. AFIS came back to a suspect from another robbery identified as “Felix” by a witness that went into the wind. Not sure if that’s a first, last or alias. NKA. Not asking you to do bail bonds search magic, but…_

_Video surveillance a bust. Every business owner we talked to had nothing. Tapes full, equipment was for show or pointed the wrong direction to catch anything. Gold has state of the art system, but suspect cased the place first and knew how to avoid cameras. The one out front was damaged in the shoot-out. Prick already called the Chief about restitution from the city._

_Fed ballistics confirmed same gun that killed Liam also fired bullet that hit Killian. Chief didn’t want Bangor PD to be the only ones that touched it to cross i’s and dot t’s in case of future trial._

_Be in touch,_

_Will_

“What are you staring at so intently?” Killian’s voice made Emma jump and her heart race more than it already was at the tiny little lead they had. _Felix_. She hastily closed her email app and looked up. A week since the shooting and he appeared to almost be back to normal. He was no longer sporting dark under eye circles and he had settled into a pattern of snoozing on the couch when he tired during the day and sleeping soundly through the night – something he attributed to her presence. The angry line on his neck was the only sign of his ordeal and there didn’t seem to be much traumatic emotional fallout from the shooting. _I told you, Swan, I’m a survivor._  

Smiling, she stood up and crossed to the bed, putting her phone down on the nightstand, turning off the lamp and slipping off her flannel pants. Sliding into the huge bed – and the man already in it - was a luxury she’d miss once she returned home. The thought of sitting alone in her apartment again wasn’t as depressing as it was before she’d read Will’s message. She was anxious to hit the ground running and offer some help, something she couldn’t do with Killian in such close proximity. 

Speaking of… 

A hand slid around her waist and down, flirting with the low waistband of her panties. Warm lips brushed the back of her neck. Without thinking, she sunk into him. Chaste kisses (and a few that had gotten out of hand) were the theme of the last week, both struggling to keep their libidos in check and follow Dr. Whale’s directive. Days were filled with conversation and television, movies and books. Short walks and long sits by the water. Nights were more difficult.

Nights like this one where she’s tired but not sleepy, and the press of his warm, furred chest against her back (and the press of an erection against her ass) have her abandoning caretaking duties in favor of the scrape of stubble against her shoulder and the feel of his hair, silky in between her fingers as she arches back into him. His hand moves up, cupping her jaw and turning her head so he can kiss her. It’s careful but deep, all angles and sliding tongues, and it takes her breath away. 

Before she can pull away and admonish him before things go too far, his hand slips back where it was and beyond, dipping lower until a long finger slides along her wetness. 

“Let me have you, love. We can take it slow.” Emma wondered if Killian even realized his hips were punctuating the words with gentle thrusts or how quickly the movements were melting her resolve. 

The finger slid farther, crooked just enough to hit the spot that made her breath catch and belly twist, thumb circling lazily around her clit. Emma slid her hand behind her back, cupping him through his pants and the sound he made was enough to push her from _we should wait_ to _hell no we aren’t_. 

With some awkward maneuvering – because trying to kick panties off underneath the sheets was never sexy – she stripped herself bare, settling back against him and Killian wasted no time pulling his own bottoms down just enough. The heat of his cock on her skin was heaven and he took himself in hand, teasing her from behind. 

Two can play at that game. 

She moved her leg, hooking her foot over his calf, opening herself up. When he went to brush against her again, she reached back to grab his ass, pulling him toward her. The length of his cock slid all the way through her wetness, the head hitting her clit at a delicious angle. 

“Oh, _fuck_ , Emma.” His voice was low in her ear as he moved against her, pulling her more firmly against his chest. 

Emma reached down, feeling him slick and slippery between her legs. A subtle shift of her hips had him sinking inside her on the next stroke. 

“God, you are so perfect for me, love.” He set a pace that was languid but thorough, shifting back and nearly slipping free before moving forward again, bottoming out. It felt so good, Emma found herself grinding back against him, urging him to go deeper. Sex with Killian was on a whole new level from anything she’d ever experienced. It had been different every time, but somehow familiar. It was as if they’d been doing this for years instead of a handful of times scattered between crises and crying. 

He slipped his hand under her thigh and pulled up and back, changing the angle just enough for Emma to feel that distant beckoning. She reached between her legs again, needing something more. 

“Yes, darling. Touch yourself for me. Want to feel you come around my cock.” His voice was rough, wrecked and she wanted nothing more than to taste his indecency. Their position didn’t allow for a full kiss, but Emma slid her tongue against his, licking at his lips and picking up the pace on her clit. “That’s it, love.” His breathing was labored, more with arousal than exertion. “Do you want to try something new?” 

A few pages of the Kama Sutra flashed through her head and Emma was glad she had taken up the occasional yoga session over the years. She couldn’t pull off any Cirque du Soleil moves, but she might be able to hold her own if Killian wanted to get inventive. 

But _oh, fuck_ , that’s not what he meant. 

“Just because I have to be gentle, doesn’t mean you have to be. Do you ever get rough with yourself, Emma? Pinch those lovely nipples a touch too hard? Fuck yourself with three fingers just to feel the stretch? Tease that beautiful little clit until it aches and then…“ He stopped moving on a backstroke, and she cried out at the loss until he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Her knees fell to the sides and his hands glided up over her breasts and down to where they were joined. “…Punish yourself?” 

She gasped when those two words were accompanied by a light slap on her clit. 

“Ohgodyesdoitagain.” It came out as all one word and the last syllable had barely made it past her lips and into the open air before he obeyed. If she was wet before, Emma knew now she was positively gushing. 

Killian braced his feet on the bed and began moving again, fucking up into her with long, even strokes, tapping against her clit with the flat of his fingers. She moved her hand over his, demanding, “More.” 

“Oh, no you deliciously wanton thing. If you want more, you’ll have to do it yourself. I’m an invalid, remember?” 

He grunted as she sat up, seating his cock fully inside of her. Reverse cowgirl wasn’t her favorite, thanks to a one-night stand from a bar years before who had too few inches and way too much liquor dick for her to be able to pull it off. This was different. _He_ was different. She gave a few experimental lifts, loving the thick drag as he came nowhere close to slipping out. He spurred her on with dirty talk and it helped make her less self-conscious as she pleasured herself at his whim. 

“Such a naughty girl, Emma, touching yourself like that. Go ahead and give yourself a little smack.” 

She complied and it felt so good, she followed it up with another one without being told. 

“Fucking hell. I can feel how much you love it. Now I want you to try something else for me. Pinch that little button and pull on it. That’s it.” 

 _Oh, holy…_ That was different. 

Emma rocked her hips, trying to find the right cadence between fucking and fingers. Once she had it, it was a race to the finish. Head thrown back, she worked herself over, pulling rhythmically on her clit as she rode Killian. A litany of filth spewed from her mouth. 

“So good…better than when I used to…ungh…fuck myself alone in my bed wishing it were you.” She felt his hands dig into her ass, kneading the flesh, guiding her as she picked up speed. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. How much I wanted to touch you. Suck you. I even…mmm…got off at work once in the middle of the night imagining you were there to bend me over my desk.” She choked back something that sounded like a sob as she felt the desperation rise up 

“You are so sexy, I can’t fucking stand it. That’s it. I want you to come all over me. Come on my cock, love.” 

Emma’s orgasm was silent. And long. And she came _hard_ and all over Killian just like he asked. By the time she was able to take a breath, he letting himself slip out of her as he eased her back to lay on his chest, and running his hands up and over her forehead, brushing her hair back. 

“Jesus Christ, woman. It’ll be you who’ll be the death of me, not the job.” 

Emma couldn’t even find the strength to tell him it was too soon for that particular joke. Her legs and right arm were jelly and all she wanted to do was drink a tall glass of orange juice, maybe say a few words of thanks to Killian’s dick and sleep for twelve hours. 

“That was amazing. YOU are amazing, love.” He kissed her sweaty hair and let out a long, streaming breath. 

Realization dawned. “Wait, you didn’t even –“ She made a vulgar gesture suggesting he hadn’t come himself and he laughed. 

“Oh, no. I led the charge for this particular evening. I was finished well before the good stuff started.” 

“What? Why didn’t you say something?” 

“And miss out on all that? I’m a lot of things, Swan, but a fool isn’t one of them. When a beautiful woman wants to ride you into oblivion and look all kinds of ridiculously hot doing it, you do not wave the white flag before the going gets good.” Killian huffed a laughing breath into her hair. “Besides, it’s my heart rate that wasn’t supposed to go up and stay there. Whale technically didn’t say anything specific about anything else doing the same.” 

Emma unceremoniously rolled off him and landed on the mattress face down with a huff. She stuffed one of the pillows under her head and closed her eyes. 

“Don’t talk about Whale when we’re in bed. He looks like an emo Eminem enthusiast from his Slim Shady days on parent/teacher conference night.” 

A heavy hand landed on one of her ass cheeks and jiggled it. 

“That’s oddly specific.” 

“Yeah, well, Whale is specifically odd.” Emma couldn’t hold back a yawn. “Can we go to sleep now? Unless you can conjure up a glass of OJ.” She didn’t even bother trying to keep the hopeful tone out of her voice. 

“I see how it is. Now that you’re sated, I’m the beck and call girl around here.” 

“It’s cute when you quote _Pretty Woman_ after you talked shit about me watching it the other day. I guess someone wasn’t as asleep on the couch as he pretended.” 

The mattress shifted as Killian gingerly rolled away from her and sat up at the edge of the bed. He took a second to stand and Emma was instantly in nursemaid mode once again. 

“I can get it.” 

He waved her off. “I’m fine, love. A wise woman once told me, ‘Don’t go fucking up my hard work to rehab your ass, Jones’ and I’m just heeding her advice.” Standing, he made his way to the door buckassed nude - and what a nice ass it was. Emma admired Killian’s backside until it was out of sight then dropped her head back onto the pillow and closed her eyes. 

****

She stirred in the bed, finally waking two hours after he’d risen. The solitude had gone by quickly once he’d taken a quick shower, had a cup of coffee and then… 

 _And then._  

“Good morning, sunshine.” 

She sat up at his tone, not bothering to draw the sheet up to cover herself. Any other morning, he’d have been more than happy to gaze upon the quite stellar breasts of a beautiful woman in his bed. Not this morning.

He held up her phone. 

“Your deputy’s name is David, correct? Not Will.” Killian tilted his head, waiting. _Ah, there it was._ “Which is funny, considering you’ve been telling me all week you’ve been in touch with your department when, in fact, you’ve been in touch with mine. Isn’t that right, Swan?” 

The second he picked her phone up off the nightstand, he’d hated himself. When he tapped in her security code and brought up her text messages, he’d hated himself. When he read them, the hate started to shift. And by the time he’d read the email Will had sent her the day before, he was blind with hate for her for keeping it from him: _Fed ballistics confirmed same gun that killed Liam also fired bullet that hit Killian._

“Why the hell did you go through my phone?” 

Oh, that pissed him off. “Nice, Swan. Classic deflection. In case you haven’t noticed, I have eyes. Eyes that have been watching you skulk and sneak around here, acting like you have something to hide. Do you not recall I have an ex-fiancée who ran off with another man? You’re not the only one dealing with obstacles here, Emma. You don’t get to corner the market on being fucked up and letting it rule every damn thing you do. I was wrong to do it, but I was right – you have been hiding shit from me.” By the time Killian was done, he was yelling. 

“Will asked me not to tell you about the gun.” She looked small and meek and he wanted to scream at her for throwing another excuse at his feet. 

“I don’t give a fuck if the Pope told you not to tell me. We may have only known each other a short time, but it’s been a goddamned crash course. And Killian 101 pretty much begins and ends with ‘He has issues when it comes to dealing with the death of his brother.’ And you don’t think telling me up front that I was thirty fucking feet away from the person who may have killed Liam instead of letting me find out like this?” He tossed her phone onto her overnight bag. It was already packed. 

“Get dressed. And get the fuck out of my house.” 

He stopped short when she moved to block his way and stepped back when she reached for him. 

“Don’t you dare touch me.” 

She pulled her hand away but didn’t move. 

“Killian, please. You have to let me explain.” 

“I don’t have to do a fucking thing. But you need to get the hell out of here.” He sidestepped her, desperate to get away. Away from Emma, away from the brewing thoughts of malice and revenge against Felix, the otherwise nameless and faceless asshole who robbed Liam of his life and nearly cost Killian his own. The bitterness bubbled up inside and spilled over when he reached the door and he turned back to her. 

“You know, Swan, the lone wolf façade thing you have going kind of worked for you when you were just a hot piece of ass worth hitting on at the side of the road. You know how it is – squeeze a good fuck out of them while you can because you know they’re not good for anything else. But I’m glad I got to see the real you is no more capable of figuring out share your life with someone else. And that’s why you’ll always be an orphan.” 

He could hear her sobbing as he left her behind.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does contain mention of non-con but is not between the two main characters.

Ugh. It was official. She was an ugly crier.                                

For someone who prided herself on digging her heels in, compartmentalizing, sucking it the fuck up, and any other numerous words and phrases that could be listed on Dr. Hopper’s yellow notepad under a heavily circled “Avoidance of Emotions” – not that she’d ever taken him up on his offer for a session - Emma was having a hard time dealing with the fact that she’d been a hot mess since Jones left her standing in his bedroom. 

 _That’s why you’ll always be an orphan._  

It had cut deep, deeper than any barb thrown her way on the playground at the seventh school in less than four years. At first, school wasn’t so bad. Little kids were more concerned with coloring inside the lines and following the golden classroom rule of being a good friend to everybody. But as Emma got older, the kids became meaner. Exclusivity was the name of the game and nobody wanted to be friends with the new girl who wore unfashionable hand-me-downs and a permanent scowl. “Foster kid” was whispered with distain and Emma’s cheeks burned hot as she stood in cafeteria lines clutching her free lunch ticket, wondering if parents and a new wardrobe could really be all it would take to fit in. 

Not that she’d ever had a chance to find out. By the time she’d aged out of the system, no forever home behind or in front of her, she’d become hardened to the perception of her situation. Adulthood provided the freedom for her to redefine herself, and it didn’t come without it’s challenges and complete fuck ups. But she hadn’t felt orphaned in a long time, not consciously. And tucking herself under Killian Jones and his umbrella had felt safe and right along with scary as hell. Having him rip that away and not only leave her standing in the rain, but contributing to the downpour with angry words made it a thousand times worse. 

Looking in the mirror, she considered her reflection. Puffy eyes. Reddened nose, chapped from excessive blowing. The floor around her couch was littered with tissues, the arm of her chunky cable knit sweater streaked with dried snot because the tears had kept coming even after she ran out of Kleenex. Three days without a wash and round-the-clock styling by sofa cushions had done no favors for her hair. All in all, Emma was the embodiment of something the cat dragged in, and it only added to the total package of _nope_ she had going on. 

After a long, hot shower, brain failing to follow the directive to think about _anything_ other than Killian resulting in more than a few tears washing down the drain, she decided a distraction was in order: research. 

Another email from Will had arrived that morning. 

_Nothing to report. All dead ends. Totally understand if you’re not down to work your magic. I got an earful, too._

It had prodded Emma to drag her ass off the couch, get cleaned up and flex her fingers over the keyboards of her laptop and phone. She knew it would be slow going. Without a last name or a concrete first name, all of the usual avenues of investigation were going to be a bust. Plus, Bangor PD had already turned over all of the name search, background check and social media stones but Will wasn’t asking her to stay on the well-lit street of policy and procedure. She knew a break in a case like this was unlikely without someone ducking into the proverbial dark alleys. Luckily, she knew plenty of shadowy figures from her days in bail bonds, and the first order of business was reaching out to them. 

Favors were a huge part of tracking down skips. They served as a currency of sorts. Emma had been out of the game a long time but her habit of banking IOUs instead of cashing them in was going to finally pay off if the response to the feelers she’d put out was any indication. Once the _hey, how’ve you been, long time no see_ niceties had run their course, she was left with a few strings to pull as day turned to night. 

An acquaintance across the border in Quebec City came back with the most promising lead. Two suspected members of the Lost Boys, a gang with lengthy ties to heists that ranged from just above petty theft to boosted truckloads of appliances worth hundreds of thousands, had been arrested in connection with a jewelry store robbery years before. They were small fish and, as it turned out, not terribly loyal. Both talked before getting bonded out and gave Canadian authorities the name Felix as their leader with a few bigger fish above him in the organization. 

Emma’s contact was their bail bondsman and in a phone conversation, he told her he’d spent a fair amount of time attempting to track them down when court dates were missed. He’d been in the business long enough to know when to cut his losses. It was less likely they possessed the intelligence to go into the wind untraced and almost certain they’d been killed over loose lips. The Lost Boys sounded innocent enough – like a ragtag bunch of kids who fancied themselves the antithesis of rules and authority – but gave traitors within their ranks no quarter. Second chances didn’t exist. 

Another gang calling itself Dreamshade that operated out of Maine had absorbed the Lost Boys in some sort of merger, according to her contact. Felix moved up the ranks once the deal went down but despite his status it was rumored he still liked getting his hands dirty and was regularly in the thick of things on the front lines. Emma thanked the bondsman, promised to keep in touch and leaned back in her chair, considering what he’d said. 

Felix’s position in the hierarchy afforded him anonymity. He could hide behind scores of minions from the Lost Boys and this new affiliation. Everyone would be too afraid to turn on him because of the longstanding message that snitches get stitches (along with far worse.) Even if he was part of a crew getting caught red-handed, there was no doubt in Emma’s mind that a bevy of foot soldiers would be ready and willing fall on their swords to protect him. Everything she knew about gangs and birds of a felonious feather flocking together supported the protection of leaders and kingpins. 

What didn’t fit was somebody like Felix risking a solo job like the break-in at Gold’s and going so far as to murder one cop and attempt to kill another. It was messy and high profile, and someone who had been in the game as long as Felix had to know Bangor PD would stop at nothing to find him. 

Then again, even with all of the efforts to rally around their fallen, Will said the department was coming up empty handed. Even if Felix had been reckless, he was still a few steps ahead. 

Stretching, she looked at the clock. Midnight had come and gone, marking the start of another day without Killian Jones. Well, he may not want her in his life, but neither hell nor high water could keep her from doing what she could to help bring Liam’s killer to justice. She fired off an email to Will with her findings.

**** 

 _This was a mistake._  

That was the only thing running through Killian’s head: _You stupid, brainless sack of shit, this was a mistake._ And there was no wondering how he’d gotten into this mess. He’d been angry and hurt, blinded by rage and revenge after he had unceremoniously tossed Emma out of his home and out of his life. Once she was gone, he’d turned his wrath toward Will, ripping him a new one before hanging up on his friend and throwing some shit around his house. A popped stitch was all it took to win a trip back to see Dr. Whale and, incidentally, that overly friendly nurse. 

Some self-diversion flirting on his part led to a dinner invitation on hers. Dinner led to drinks. Drinks led to a cab ride that had started with light touches and ended with a disgruntled driver who was none too happy to witness their full-blown make out session in his rearview or Killian pulling his hand from between her thighs when he pulled up to her building. And once they were inside the door to her apartment, he didn’t hesitate to let her help him forget all of it. Emma and Will’s betrayal. The reopening of scar tissue left by the loss of his brother. 

At one time he would have been grateful for the distraction provided by half a bottle of rum and an eager woman. If he had taken a second to be honest with himself, it would have been painfully clear during dinner that Tink didn’t hold a candle to Emma. She’d be perfect for someone, just not himself. And through the fog of liquor, bad judgment, guilt and the feeling of unfamiliar lips wrapped around his cock and the wrong blonde hair tangled in his fingers, Killian could only think one thing. 

“This was a mistake.” Killian gently maneuvered her mouth away from him and helped the nurse off her knees, tucking himself back in his pants. He didn’t miss the murderous look in her eyes. 

“What the fuck? Is it that other woman?” Tink crossed her arms, huffing at him as he quickly did up the buttons of the fly of his jeans, leaving his shirt un-tucked in his haste to pick up his coat off the floor. 

Killian didn’t have the heart to tell Tink that to him, _she_ felt like the other woman. Gravity of consequence hit him like a ton of bricks and in a moment of clarity, he knew he’d fucked saying the things he did to Emma. He made his apologies to Tink, told her she deserved better and kissed her cheek before slipping out the door. Suddenly sober in the chill of the night air, he turned the collar of his pea coat up to block the wind and started back in the direction of the restaurant. 

She wasn’t at the town line. She wasn’t at the station. And when he stood on her doorstep and knocked, Emma didn’t answer. He tried to call her, ear pressed to cold metal with the hope he could will her to answer it through entry door steel. 

Nothing. 

With a sigh he turned back to the curb, certain he’d pressed his luck enough on other occasions waltzing into Storybrooke unannounced in the dead of night. Waking up a sleeping giant – and one that valued her sleep as much as Emma – wasn’t going to get him off on the right foot. He’d wait until morning and try again. 

Getting back into his truck, Killian took out his phone and set the alarm for six o’clock. That would give him at least three hours of shuteye and an opportunity to catch her on her way out for hot chocolate if she had the early shift. 

**** 

Emma awoke with a start, nearly rolling off the couch. When she wasn’t plagued by insomnia, she’d been having Jones-centric dreams. Most nights, she didn’t know which was worse. At least she’d have a shot at a few hours in her own bed. 

Heading to the small U-shaped kitchen, she held up a glass that had been in the sink alongside a half dozen others. Deciding it was clean enough and that some housework was in order when she got off work later, she filled it with water and took a long drink. 

Her tiny apartment was nothing compared to the space and comforts provided by Killian’s house by the river, but she’d always considered it home. Even when she could afford to move to a bigger place she hadn’t, choosing to put money away for a rainy day. The building was old and in need of updates, but it was safe, especially with the extra locks she’d put on her doors. 

That means he must have come in through a window. 

Emma felt his presence before she saw him. Smashing her glass against the countertop in the hope it would shatter and provide her a weapon, she cursed when it broke but slipped through her fingers, cutting one deeply before the jagged pieces rained down to the floor . No matter. She’d been in plenty of fights over the years. Using the sink cabinet, she planted one and pushed hard off the sink cabinet with the other, propelling him backwards until she felt him hit the opposite counter. Smashing her heel down on the top of his foot, she pulled away from him. 

“Bitch!” 

He caught her just as Emma was trying to vault over the counter separating the kitchen from the living area, dragging her back toward him. She kicked viciously in an attempt to knock him off balance, sending a canister of cooking utensils and a small clock that doubled as an oven timer flying. That was when she felt it. 

The taser. 

He wasn’t a large man by any means, but the element of surprise and the desire to intimidate gave him an advantage. He dug the prongs into her neck harder than necessary, hissing in her ear and wafting rotten breath over her face. 

“Captain Jones found himself a pretty little thing, didn’t he? Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re going to have a good time together.” 

She didn’t have to read between the lines. The deliberate thrust of his hips into her backside was plenty confirmation of his intentions. Emma tried to scream, struggling even harder to free herself, but he pulled her into a chokehold and began to squeeze. 

“Now, now don’t be like that. You were the one looking for me, remember?” 

As she lost consciousness, Emma realized that without even realizing it somehow she’d summoned the devil. 

 _Felix._  


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of non-con in this chapter as a means for intimidation but it is NOT graphically acted upon.

“Sleep well, Captain Jones?” 

Killian startled, spilling a healthy amount of sugar over the rim of his giant Styrofoam to-go cup and onto the counter at the diner. A man slid onto the stool next to him. Blond hair, broad shoulders and an expression that reminded him of a stern father eyeing his daughter’s prom date. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Killian cupped a hand, brushing the spilled granules off the edge of the counter and into the other one. Praying the diner’s proprietor was at least halfway diligent about cleaning off the bar, he let the sugar slide off his palm into his cup. Sweetened coffee wasn’t his favorite, but with a handful of hours of sleep in the cab of his truck, he welcomed the impending burst of energy it would provide. 

“No, but I know all about you.” 

Okay, _that_ was a loaded statement. 

“I’m David Nolan. Sheriff Swan’s deputy.” 

Ah. Emma hadn’t struck him as the type to bring her personal life to the office, but Deputy Nolan was clearly privy to one detail or another. 

“I see. And have you seen the good Sheriff this morning?” Killian had waited outside Emma’s apartment, hoping to catch her before work. She hadn’t shown herself at six and when eight o’clock rolled around, he knocked on the door but no one answered. 

“I was hoping you’d be able to answer a similar question. She’s late for her shift and hasn’t answered her phone. Very unlike her. Then again, Emma has been dealing with some…personal issues recently. But you already know about that.” Killian had heard that tone before from nearly every authority figure he’d come across before the Navy had knocked his mouth down a few pegs. Getting the stern high school vice principal act from someone he’d never met was slowly making it climb up the ladder again. 

“I don’t know how that’s any of your business, _Dave_.” 

“It’s Deputy Nolan, Captain Jones. And it’s my business because that’s how we do things around here. We look out for each other.” 

Killian nodded, mouth turned down in a frown, and thanked the waitress as she slid a cup of hot chocolate with cinnamon in front of him, handing her a ten-dollar bill. He stood up, purposely knocking shoulders with _Deputy Nolan_ and started making his way to the door with his drinks. Before he could throw a hip into it, the officer reached an arm past his elbow, pushing the door open and following him outside. 

“Anything else I can do for you, Deputy?” Killian’s jaw flexed as he waited for an answer. If he was ever going to get in Emma’s good graces again, he certainly couldn’t make enemies with her closest subordinate, especially one who seemed to have enough information about him to dislike Killian on sight. 

“It really isn’t like Emma to not show up for work. She hasn’t been sleeping well and probably overslept. I trust you’ve seen how she’s like when she’s tired?” 

All of a sudden, Killian felt like the deputy had done him a huge favor. Emma on little or no sleep was terrifying if in nothing else but her unpredictability. 

“You can follow me back to her place.” 

Killian raised one of the cups in Nolan’s direction. “Appreciate it.” 

“That’s all you’re gonna get. If she wants to kick your ass, I’m not going to step in to save it.” 

“Understood.” 

As he drove behind the cruiser, Killian considered what Nolan had said. Emma wasn’t sleeping well to the point where it was affecting her job. _Fuck._ All the more reason to at least try to apologize and smooth some things over. She was solid police and he hated the idea that he’d brought her below her natural state of giving 100%. 

At the apartment, Nolan knocked on the door. “Emma, it’s David. Are you there?” He turned to look at Killian and shrugged, then took his key ring off a belt loop and cycled through, looking for one in particular. 

For a split second, Killian was wild with jealousy and wondered if there had ever been more to their relationship than boss and subordinate. The straight arrow deputy didn’t seem like her type, but everything Killian knew about Emma Swan had been part of a crash course. It was unfair of him to speculate, especially when the shame of last night’s ill-conceived rebound blowjob was still eating away at him. 

He shook himself out of it and made eye contact with Nolan as the deputy went through the motions unlocking the doorknob and two bolts. No matter their personal feelings for each other, they shared the bond of the badge and both were trained well enough to take precautions, even going into a friend’s house. 

At first glance, nothing seemed horribly amiss, but Killian was seeing the space for the first time. It was Nolan’s “oh, shit” that put his hackles up and he stepped in past the small tiled foyer. Kitchen utensils were strewn on the floor along with broken pottery, probably from the canister she used to hold them. Something that looked like a retro timer from June Cleaver’s kitchen was mixed in, batteries popped out of the broken back. 

“No. No, no, no.” 

The fear in Nolan’s voice was unmistakable. He was standing in the kitchen, actively trying to not step on broken glass and linoleum smeared with blood. From his new vantage point, Killian could see why the deputy was afraid. He’d been to countless homes where fights and domestic violence had taken place. The broken glass and blood by itself were concerning, but not a cause for panic, until one took into consideration it appeared Emma was missing. 

Pulling out their guns, Nolan signaled to Killian and they moved through the apartment, both looking for any sign of her and ensuring an intruder wasn’t hiding. They found nothing. Walking back toward the living room, Killian caught sight of her coffee table. 

“Does she ever leave home without her phone, gun or badge?” He nodded to all three items nestled between a littering of used tissues. 

“Gun, yes. Badge and phone? Never.” Nolan’s throat worked hard. “She’s gone.” 

**** 

Feeling fuzzy, Emma wondered why the hell she’d let herself fall asleep sitting up at her tiny little kitchen table. It wouldn’t be the first time, but she was already pushing her luck at the station with David. He’d be painfully nice if she came in for her shift in a shitty mood again but he deserved better than a perpetually pissy co-worker. She shook her head trying to clear the cobwebs until a voice broke the silence and she froze. 

“Well, well, well. The princess awakens and I didn’t even get to kiss her.” Felix came into focus. His blond hair looked unwashed and he appeared almost painfully thin. The memory of their brawl and his unmistakable threat came to her in a rush and she flinched away from him, taking stock of her situation. 

She was tied to a wooden chair in the middle of what looked like a large warehouse. One eye was swollen nearly to closing and the cheek underneath throbbed. A cloth holding the metallic taste of blood was twisted into her mouth, so anything she tried to say would be muffled and unintelligible. There would be no use yelling for help, and there was nothing in her immediate field of vision that would be useful weapon even if she could get free. Emma maneuvered her hands and feet, trying to see how solid the ropes binding them were tied. 

Felix laughed as he saw her struggling. 

“You won’t be able to slip those knots. Tying pretty things up is somewhat of a hobby of mine.” He moved closer, reaching out to trail a finger up her thigh. “Especially when they can’t scream.” She cried out as much as she could and tried to head butt him, but he easily overpowered her and grabbed her face. Tears began to stream as he licked up the side of her face, the smell and wetness of his mouth rancid. Emma’s stomach heaved and she began to retch around the gag. 

“Felix!” Another voice boomed in the cavernous space and Emma sagged in relief when her tormenter’s attention was pulled elsewhere. From the corner of her vision, she could see the other man was tall and well dressed, out of place for a dusty warehouse. 

“It’s not polite to play with your food.” 

“Come on, Peter. I was just getting a taste.” Felix kicked at Emma’s foot and she stomped at him the fraction of an inch she could move. “And you know I like it when they’re feisty.” 

The other man held his hand up as if cutting off a whining toddler and walked toward where Emma was bound. He was incredibly boyish looking, and if his eyes hadn’t been so cold and flat, she would have sworn he was the human embodiment of a puppy who hadn’t yet grown into its ears. His suit was impeccably tailored and reeked of money. Then again, she’d have a shitload more in her bank account, too, if she didn’t care about pesky things like avoidance of the committing of felonies and paying taxes. 

“So this is the illustrious Sheriff Swan. A little worse for wear, but that’s to be expected when I send Felix to do my dirty work.” There was a heavy sigh of exasperation for his colleague before the heels of his polished shoes clicked loudly as he circled the chair. “I have to admit your status in law enforcement ups the stakes more than a little, but I have a feeling it will be worth it.” He turned. “Felix, I’m going to need a moment alone with our guest. And I need you make sure the harbormaster is looking elsewhere when our friends arrive.” The wave of his hand was dismissive and uncontested. In a moment, they were alone. 

Harbormaster? That meant they were in a port. Emma had been unconscious the entire ride to whereverthefuck they'd ended up. 

“I’m going to take that infernal gag off, Miss Swan. Felix knows that even if you did scream, there’s nobody around to hear you.” Somehow this man – Peter – came across as even more ruthless than his counterpart and Emma didn’t breathe as he carefully untied the cloth and pulled it away from her face. She licked her dried lips, wincing as her tongue passed over a wicked split in the middle of the bottom one. 

He moved behind her and the cacophony of wood being dragged over concrete echoed off the walls. Peter placed the other chair across from her and sat, balancing one ankle on the opposite knee and steepling his fingers. 

“Do you know why you’re here?” 

“No, I don’t.” Emma was grateful the words came out strong and clear, even if they were a little croaky from a dry throat. 

“You, my dear, are what we call bait.” 

“And what, may I ask, are you trying to catch?” Emma kept her tone light, but a wave of dread was rolling up her spine. She’d play his game. What the hell did she have to lose getting a little information from him? 

“Oh, I think you can figure that out on your own, Sheriff. We know there is no professional tie between the investigation into the shooting at the pawnshop and Storybrooke. It’s a small town that’s undoubtedly going through a crisis now that half of its police force is sitting in that chair.” Peter gestured in Emma’s direction. “That makes your involvement personal – not that we weren’t already aware of your dalliance with Captain Jones. What nobody took into consideration was your value as a resource.” 

He stood and started pacing. 

“You must know how hard it is for even neighboring jurisdictions and departments to share information. Imagine how that is across the border. Your source in Quebec City was halfway right.” 

She looked at him, unable to keep a look of surprise off her face at the fact he knew of the connection. 

“Phone tap and spyware on your laptop. For a former bail bondsperson, you were surprisingly easy to get to, Sheriff. Life in a small town must be making you complacent,” he chided, making a _tsk tsk_ sound.

“We didn’t so much acquire the Lost Boys as offer their higher ups and a few lower ranking members who had demonstrated unwavering loyalty an opportunity within our organization. Before he was brought into Maine, Felix recruited heavily, not for quality but for sheer volume. The goal was to leave behind enough chaos and lack of structure for authorities there to have their hands full with sloppy robberies and a crew that didn’t know how to sell a score without getting caught.”

“And since you’d already cherry picked the cream of the crop and everybody left behind didn’t rank high enough to have the kind of information to sell you up the river, you were in the clear.” 

Peter snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “In a nutshell.” Flashing a Rolex, he checked the time. “The rest of story time will have to wait until the rest of the guests arrive. I do hate repeating myself. According to our eyes and ears, it won’t be too long. You picked yourself one hell of a boyfriend, Miss Swan. I look forward to meeting him.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” _Maybe almost._  

“I guess ‘ex’ _is_ more fitting, isn’t it? Nasty business, secrets are. Although it seems like you’re even on that front.” Peter walked in front of her, ticking off his fingers. “You didn’t tell him you were privy to details about his poor brother’s death. And Captain Jones had a rendezvous with that eager little nurse last night.” His laughter boomed as Emma’s head whipped up, looking for the lie in his eyes. There wasn’t one. “Oops.” Peter’s hand came up to his mouth as he mockingly gasped. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“Why are you doing this?” She was bitter, but not for the reason he would assume by her tone. He was toying with them and Emma knew there was something bigger to focus on than Killian falling right back into a pattern of rash decisions when angry. Then and there, she decided she didn’t give a damn what the hell he’d done with the nurse. If Killian would be joining them, she knew having solidarity on their side would be just about their only advantage. What Peter said next confirmed her thoughts: 

“To answer simply, I require that the good Captain break. That’s why I’m doing this. And he can’t do that if he has hope – something your presence has given him and something we shall soon remedy.” 

**** 

Killian sat in the passenger seat of Nolan’s cruiser, both hands clenched into fists and willing himself not to punch the shit out of Deputy Do-Right. 

It hadn’t taken them long to figure out the approximate time Emma had scuffled with someone in the kitchen. The busted clock on the floor had stopped around two o’clock in the morning. When Killian wondered aloud if it was operable and not just for show, Nolan provided an anecdote about the time a few weeks earlier when Emma had tried to bake cookies but set the timer wrong and was treated to a symphony of the shrill ring of the clock and her smoke alarm. 

Killian wanted to throw up knowing if he’d arrived at her place an hour earlier, Felix would have missed his opportunity. The _why_ was pretty clear when a photo of Emma bound and gagged came through to his phone via text message with an invitation to “come and get her.” The text also teetered toward clichéd, instructing him to come alone but the deputy had insisted, putting one large hand on Killian’s shoulder, the look on his face betraying Nolan’s distain for him bubbling under the surface, and saying Emma was like a sister to him. It was hard to argue with that. He understood both the bonds of siblinghood and the inherent kinship that came with the badge. 

He had offered to drive but Nolan pointed out they’d be better off with the lights and sirens. The loss of control made Killian’s skin crawl. They were making excellent time and the cruiser was effortlessly weaving in and out of slower-moving traffic with the deputy at the helm, but he wanted to do something more for Emma. Something other than clutching the oh shit handle on the door, willing every care in front of them to get the fuck out of the way as they barreled toward her. 

Killian was so tense, the sound of his phone ringing startled him and his leg swung up involuntarily, shin hitting the underside of the cruiser’s glove compartment. He was swearing as he answered Will’s call, but his friend’s frantic yelling drowned Killian out. 

“They’ve taken her, Captain. Got a text with a picture and she’s all banged up and – “ Will broke off and there was a strangled sound on his side. 

“Will? Will!” Killian yelled into the phone and breathed a sigh of relief when it didn’t go unanswered. 

“Sorry, I just – I feel like this is all my fault. I asked her to dig because we haven’t been getting anywhere with this goddamned investigation. The Chief pulled Zelena off it for some before she could get anywhere and if I didn’t know better, I’d think other departments were being purposely obtuse and slow to give us info. With her background, I thought she’d be able to help get a jump on who killed Rogers and Liam and shot you. All it did was get her hurt.“ 

The anguish in Will’s voice matched his own, but it provided the switch he so desperately needed to flip in order to go into this rescue operation with a level head. Going in fueled on anger and vengeance alone would only result in maelstrom and someone could get hurt. Causing Emma any more pain, physical or otherwise, wasn’t an option for him and every ounce of rage Killian felt about being cut out dissolved. 

“Tell me what you know. All I was given was a few lame-ass TV villain instructions to come alone and an address. I feel like we’re looking at the tip of an iceberg and walking into a trap.” 

“I got the same message and I’m en route. But damn if that isn’t about it in a nutshell. Emma did some digging with a contact from her bonding days. This Felix character was part of a gang out of Quebec City but he fell off Canadian authorities’ radar years ago. Rumor has it he came across the border and hooked up with Dreamshade.” 

“Ah, fuck.” Killian had heard of them. There wasn’t a major police department in the state that hadn’t. Any city with a large enough port had been battling not only the gang’s sizeable thefts, but their suspected illegal export activities, too. There was no better way to get rid of a container of stolen goods than greasing some palms and watching as it sailed out toward international waters. 

It suddenly made sense why the _come and get her_ message directed him to the Port of Portland. If Felix had ties to Dreamshade and Dreamshade’s modus operandi was shuffling illicit goods out of the country, the group would stay close to the water.

“Listen, I was in Storybrooke this morning. I’m with the deputy now. He’s – he and Emma are friends.”

Will huffed out a breath and Killian was glad that for once, his detective was choosing to keep his mouth shut instead of pointing out Nolan’s inclusion was against direct orders from Felix and Dreamshade. Still, he felt compelled to explain himself. 

“He’s a solid cop, Will. And I think we’ll need all hands on deck. They clearly want to bargain.” 

“Hey, you won’t hear any shit from me about breaking the rules, Captain. What’s your twenty?”

 “Lit up and loud coming up on 295 from 1 going balls to the wall. About 20 minutes out from the port if we don’t get hung up. You?” 

“Should hit the 1 interchange right behind you.” 

After a short discussion covering tactical strategies, Killian disconnected the call with Will and dialed a number that, as far as he knew, nobody else in the Bangor PD had. 

“’Lo, Captain. I was wondering when you’d call.” 

Despite the distinct fuckupedness of the situation and his hyper-focus on Emma’s safety and well-being, Killian chuckled. “Zelena, I need you to work your magic.”

**** 

The chains of an industrial roll-up door screeched deafeningly. Emma cringed away from the harsh noise and turned her head, shielding her eyes from the sudden intrusion of light flooding the warehouse. A scuffle of feet and muffled yells took over as Felix and two men she didn’t recognize bodily wrestled Killian, Will and David over the threshold. 

When she saw them, she flinched. Will’s nose was smashed and bleeding heavily. David’s arm hung limply, the shoulder dislocated, and he had a cut on his chin. One of Killian’s eyes was completely swollen shut, mouth bloodied, and his clothes were completely covered in dirt. All were bound – both hands and feet - with rope fashioned much like the chains prisoners wore outside of the jailhouse. 

“Well, well, well, gentlemen. I see you put up a bit of a fight.” Peter looked impossibly younger in the light of day and there was no small amount of glee in his words as he surveyed the damage. 

The man holding Killian pushed him hard, propelling him toward Emma. Felix slipped a boot between his feet and laughed as Killian fell hard to the dusty concrete, rolling right into Emma’s legs. 

“You just keep ending up on the floor, Captain. Maybe one of these days you’ll do me a favor and won’t get back up.” 

“Now what fun would that be for either of us?” 

There was nowhere for him to go as Felix advanced and raised his foot, poised to smash it into Killian’s face. 

“Enough!” The hiss was familiar. “Peter, I thought we agreed Felix needed to be…taken care of.”

Mr. Gold limped into the warehouse, one hand on his cane and the other tucked into the folds of his coat. With a theatrical wave of his hand, the two men who had come in with Felix backed away from Will and David. 

“Is that any way to treat our esteemed Captain?” Gold held his cane out in Killian’s direction, a gesture to help him up, but the effort was met with a sneer of distain as he rolled over, struggling to push himself onto his elbows and then to his feet. 

Felix all but kicked invisible dirt, looking at the ground as he whined, “But you’re the one who wanted him killed.” 

Emma saw the arm come up and yelled, “NO!” but it was too late. The shot was deafening, even with the door open. Felix crumpled to the floor, bleeding from a bullet wound to the temple. 

 _Jesus Christ._ It was Gold. If he’d planned for something to happen to Killian that means –

“Of course you wanted me gone. I was in your way. Just as Liam was.” Unsteady on his feet but with even words, Killian continued. “Because you couldn’t buy us. You needed the river to move your stolen goods. But Liam cracked down and couldn’t be paid to look the other way like his predecessor. It forced Dreamshade to take huge risks at the port level and paying off harbormasters and security guards were taking a huge chunk out of your profits. So you had him killed to try your luck at a more easily swayed replacement.”

Gold tucked the gun into his coat pocket and shifted his weight to his good leg, tucking his cane under his arm and clapping delightedly.Emma didn’t think she’d ever forget the sound of his creepy giggle “How very clever of you, Captain Jones. Anything else you’d like to share with the group?”

Before Killian shifted away from Emma, he took a moment to put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing softly. She couldn’t help but rest her cheek against the warmth, a silent show of forgiveness and togetherness.

“You’ve had low-level Dreamshade members operating in Bangor for years. Keeping up steady but petty crimes. Getting the population used to police presence, then upping the ante. Targeting businesses, staging a heist in your own shop, all to create fear and distrust in the ability of the department to properly enforce law in the city.” He nodded at Felix’s prone body. “I’m going to guess he went rogue that night at your shop and, pardon the pun, jumped the gun. He knew you wanted me out but was too impulsive and stupid to wait and do it right. Now that he’s out of the picture, what’s say you and I bury the hatchet?” 

Gold’s crocodilian smile stretched wide and he gestured to Killian making a cleaving motion. “Yes, but why not in your skull?” 

Killian feigned offense. “Is that any way to talk in front of a lady?” He gestured to Emma as Gold looked between them. 

“From what I understand, transgressions made by Captain Jones just last night may have dissolved the tenuous hold he had on Miss Swan’s heart.” Peter piped in for the first time since Gold’s arrival, announcing the news with a great deal of relish. 

Emma looked at Killian and shrugged. “How was the she?” 

“I’ve had better.” He winked at her, poking his tongue into his cheek before flipping the finger to Peter and turning back to Gold. Killian stretched his arms out. “I’m right here, Gold. Do your worst. Just let Emma, my detective and Deputy Nolan go.” 

Goddamn him. 

“No!” Emma struggled against her binds. Jones and his stupid hero complex. The minute Gold’s men cut the ropes holding her she launched herself at Killian. One of the men caught her and started dragging her toward the door. Bracing herself, Emma threw an elbow back, catching him between the eyes. 

That was when all hell broke loose. 

In a split second, there was a loud _crack!_ and the other guard went down. David, moving gingerly with his separated shoulder, managed to push a knee into the fallen man's back, ensuring he wouldn’t get up even if the unseen shot wasn’t fatal. 

Will launched himself at Peter from behind, stretching to slip his bound hands over the man’s head and pulling him backward. They dropped, Will clearly with the upper hand as he looped his legs over Peter’s and leaned back, administering a chokehold. 

The man Emma was fighting swept her leg and she went down hard. Bringing a knee up, she connected solidly with his balls and as she tried to wriggle away, she saw Gold out of the corner of her eye reaching into his pocket as Killian went in for the tackle. The shot to the nuts hadn’t disabled the man as much as Emma would have liked and he knelt on her thigh to pin her down, blocking her view of Killian. She prayed he’d gotten to Gold’s gun first and felt a surge of adrenaline. 

With a loud yell, she threw her free leg up and over the shoulder of the guard, kicking him in the side of the head and off balance. He sat up enough for her to get her foot squarely on his chest and push him back. Both legs freed, she bounced to her feet and grabbed his head. One vicious knee to the temple and he was unconscious. 

“Killian? Killian!” 

Horrified, she watched as Jones held onto the lapels of Gold’s coat and repeatedly smashed his head into the concrete. 

“You had Liam killed, you son of a bitch!” Bam. “And for what - power?” BAM. “Money?” BAM. “He was all I fucking had!” BAM.

A hooded figure dove onto Killian and helped Emma drag him away from Gold. Killian curled into her, tears wetting her sweater and she held him, looking up at Robin in gratitude. 

“I take it that shot was yours?” 

He shoved the hood off his head and pulled the gun out of Gold’s pocket then tipped an imaginary hat to her. “They don’t call me Archer for nothing. Although somebody owes me big time because I had to ride all the fucking way from Bangor in the goddamned trunk of Will’s car so these dumb fuckers wouldn’t see me.” He nudged Gold’s foot and turned, pulling the chain that held his badge out into the open. “We’re going to have company in a minute,” he said as the sound of sirens neared. He nodded at the two of them huddled on the floor and turned to help David up. 

Killian lifted his head, running his hands over her hair. 

“I’m sorry, Emma. I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have –“ 

“Now is not the time,” she said sternly and moved out of his reach. Standing, she crossed her arms and looked down at him. 

He nodded and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose in resignation. Emma knew a defeated Killian Jones when she saw him. She nudged his knee with her toe and held out her hand. “You can apologize by planning another date. One you’ll actually show up for this time. If you think you can play hard to get by getting me involved in this kind of fuckery again, you have another thing coming. Fool me once…” 

Killian reached for her hand and let her haul him to his feet. 

“Oh, trust me, darling. I am well aware the shame is _all_ on me.” He threw an arm over her shoulder and kissed the side of her hair as they walked out of the warehouse. 


	14. Chapter 14

She was nervous. 

Like hand wringing, heart racing, can’t-bring-herself-to-knock-on-the-door nervous. Nervous to take this next step toward _real._  

Emma stood on Killian’s doorstep, hands literally wringing and heart literally racing. She shuffled her feet, suddenly self-conscious in the floaty, blush-colored dress she’d bought specifically for the occasion and second-guessing the girlish high ponytail. She was so caught up in her own thoughts, she missed his form moving behind the stained and frosted glass of the front door, jumping when his voice came jovially from the other side. 

“Are you going to ring the fucking doorbell or stand there all night?” 

Poking her finger repeatedly against the button, she yelled, “There, is that better?” over the jangling of the bell. 

Killian was laughing as the door swung open, face quickly turning from amused to speechless. He shook his head as he looked her over. “You look stunning, Swan.” 

Emma would have – and should have – said thank you, but she was too busy taking stock herself. 

Dark grey trousers, artfully scuffed black shoes, and a dark blue waistcoat over a white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled and pushed up to the elbow ( _holy fuck, those forearms_.) She hadn’t seen him wear jewelry before: a heavy watch on one wrist, hammered silver cuff on the other, several rings, a motherfucking _earring_ and two thin chains that were nestled in a generously visible patch of chest hair. The downright salacious look he was giving her coupled with the pink tip of his tongue curled over his upper lip took the whole package to a new level of dark, dangerous and devilish. _Jesus, he was beautiful._

Killian chastely bussed her cheek ushered her inside, a warm, wide palm on the small of her back. Neither one really counted as PDA – he could have greeted his grandmother the same way – but keeping things rated G for General Audiences (and any prying eyes) ended the minute the door closed. 

He crowded her against the wall, hands on either side of her head, pinning her in place with his hips. His dark head dipped and Emma felt his nose running the length of her collarbone. 

“You smell good enough to eat.” Soft lips danced over her skin followed by the faint roughness of scruff, dragging up her neck until they reached the spot just under her ear. The kiss Killian dropped there was open-mouthed and hot, followed by nipping teeth, and Emma’s back arched involuntarily when his tongue flicked out to soothe.

Her hands came up to fist in his hair, his lips trailing downward until his face was buried into her neck. 

“We talked about this, Jones.” His hum was both an acknowledgment and a dismissal of the agreement made during a dozen conversations in the last two weeks to slow things down and enjoy the moment post-shooting-and-kidnapping fuckery, starting it all anew. 

Not that Emma wasn’t enjoying this particular moment. And, if the bulge he was brushing back and forth over the juncture of her thighs was any indication, he was enjoying it plenty, too. 

“My apologies, lass.” Killian’s voice was muffled. “I had intended on being a gentleman. Taking you to dinner. Taking you for drinks. Taking you back here for…” his tongue traced a familiar pattern over her skin – one she recognized from the times his face had been buried between her thighs, “…dessert.” 

Emma chortled and yanked on his hair. As Killian straightened, she pushed gently on his chest to move him backward. If he looked beautiful before, he looked beautifully wrecked now. Flushed and close to breathless, blue eyes glittering, his hands closed into fists. The movement pulled her attention lower. She was right about the bulge – the hard length of him was clearly visible through the thin material of his dress pants - and Emma reached out and traced the tip with a single finger. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth. Eyes closing, he tilted his chin up toward the ceiling, canting his hips just enough to increase the pressure of her touch. 

“You’re not very good at following the rules, Captain. “Emma squeezed him before moving her hand away. “And normally, I wouldn’t reward such behavior. But –“ his eyes popped open and met hers before looking down to where she was gathering the gossamer layers of her skirt, slowly pulling it up over her thighs to reveal a tiny scrap of white lace, “- I do _love_ the idea of having dessert first.”

Killian was on his knees in an instant. Any protest Emma had over the fact that he literally ripped her brand new, incredibly expensive (and apparently extraordinarily delicate) panties off turned into a gasp the second his tongue flicked over her clit. He slung one leg over his shoulder and easily slipped two fingers into her slick wetness, curling them to stroke that spot inside her. 

Emma nearly knocked his motorcycle helmet off the pretty, yet wholly ornamental, foyer table scrabbling for something solid to hold onto, fingers skittering over his .45. 

“If you want to touch my gun, all you have to do is ask, Swan.” 

Another teasing lick to her clit had Emma roughly fisting his hair, torn between pulling his head back to deliver a scathing retort and pushing him closer. She had decided on the former but any words she may have been able to choke out were cut off when his mouth fused to her. 

Emma hoped it was a eulogy Killian was tracing with his tongue, because she was fairly certain this was how she was going to die: coming with a gorgeous and ridiculously talented man on his knees in front of her. 

What a far fucking cry from encounters with one-night stands and friends with bennies who couldn’t find a g-spot with a magic wand and a goddamned locator spell. 

Once she’d all but ridden his face through her high, Emma found herself caged against the wall again, being thoroughly kissed and not minding a bit that she could taste herself. When Killian tried to pull away, she slid her arms around him, cupping the muscled firmness of his ass and dropping her forehead onto his chest, still slightly out of breath. He kissed the top of her head. 

“Darling, I love a good cuddle as much as the next hopeless romantic but we do have reservations for dinner and I need to wash up.” 

Emma picked up her head and took his wrist, bringing the fingers that had just rocked her world up to her mouth. She looked him dead in the eye as she licked her essence off, smug satisfaction coursing through her when he went limp against her. 

Well, not exactly _limp_.

“What, no time for me to touch your gun, Captain?” 

He pushed away from her, chuckling and heading toward the kitchen sink, giving her a moment to sweep up her ruined panties off the floor. 

“Not at the moment, Swan. But I promise you can touch my gun and every other clutch piece hidden around the house when we get back, should you so desire.” 

He came back wiping still-damp hands on his slacks, the evidence of his arousal still clear as day. 

“Oh, I desire.” Emma shot him an imitation of one of his own patented looks of devastating fire and flirtation, and allowed him to usher her out of the house.  

**** 

He took her to an Italian restaurant, beautiful both in its simplicity and apparent familiarity with Killian. The owner-slash- _maître d’_ had gushed over her, clapping Killian on the back. 

“Yoo-hoo, Captain Jones! You finally bring me a beautiful girl to meet.” He turned to Emma. “This one has been dining here for years. Always the _pollo alla parmigiana_ and tiramisu but always alone. I have nice red wine for you on the house.” The maître d’ ignored Killian’s protest, waving him off. “You are good man, Captain. You always tip my girl at least 50%. You think I don’t notice you asking after her boy.” He turned to Emma, rounding his hand out to mime a pregnant stomach. “Ashley is a student. Her boyfriend gets her in trouble and then runs out on the her and the baby. This one always asks for her section so he can slip some extra money.” 

The tips of Killian’s ears were crimson by the time the gentleman left to get the wine but the anecdote had served as one hell of an icebreaker. They talked about people they’d met on the job, unforgettable cases and perps, and shared stories about their craziest arrests before things became personal. 

Emma couldn’t help but tease Killian about his penchant for pet names. He’d called her “love” four or five before the owner slid an unordered plate of antipasto between them, winking at Emma and completely ignoring her date as he asked to have it added to the bill. 

“What is it with that? So many women over the years, you resorted to blanket terms in order to not call someone by the wrong name?” The guilty look on his face was priceless. “No, really, Jones. I’m honored to be among your harem,” Emma deadpanned. 

“I’ll have you know those days are well behind me.” The oath was punctuated by a flourish of his hand, candlelight glinting off the red stone of his most ostentatious ring. 

“Are they really? Seems to me it wasn’t that long ago when your dangle was in and around some near-random woman’s mouth.” 

“That was…a thoughtless transgression. I apologize if it’s cast a pall over…” he gestured to the space between them. “I was angry and stupid and – not that it’s an excuse – drunk as hell.” 

Emma’s hand came off the table and she held it up, stopping him from continuing. 

“No, no. I’m sorry. It was a joke. We already beat that horse and there’s no way in hell I’m going to Ross and Rachel that shit until the end of time.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh at her TV reference. “So we WERE on a break?”

Emma leaned back to give the approaching _maître d’_ room and waited as he made a show of uncorking the bottle and tipping a splash into her wineglass. She picked it up the delicate stemware, gulped the contents without even feigning a taste and gave the man a nod, waiting for him to complete the pour and walk away before flipping Killian a surreptitious finger for his cheek. She was reminded of the first time she’d done that with an odd fondness given he’d been on the wrong side of a jail cell door at the time.

“I’m not good at this.” 

“Are you referring to your tragically lacking wine tasting skills?” 

Emma’s fingers drummed on the table as she shot him a look. “I’m referring to my tragically lacking relationship skills.” The minute she said it, both hands clapped over her mouth. _Way to lay it all out there._  

“How is it that you can drop the fuck word, loudly and in public with no qualms, but you say the word ‘relationship’ like it’ll get you detention?” His words held no malice or accusation. 

Emma picked up her wineglass by the stem, twirling it between her thumb and forefinger, fidgeting in lieu of answering. 

“I think it’s because you can see a future here. A happy one.”

“Let me guess. With you?” It came out harsh, but he didn’t appear bothered. 

“Aye, me. Or someone else if that’s what makes you happy.” 

Her nose scrunched as she tilted her head, searching his face for any sign of trickery. As usual, she found none. Just unfairly handsome features and an expression that looked both earnest and hopeful. Emma scowled into her wine.

“You’re just so good at this. “Love” and “darling” and smooth moves and you always say the right thing.” She was hard-pressed to remember the last time she’d even been on a proper date, much less had the ability to actually woo someone. 

“So you’re saying I need a pet name to even the odds.” Killian popped an olive in his mouth. “Shmoopsie. Snookums. Pookie Bear. Cuddlebum.” 

Emma cackled, holding her napkin over her mouth to muffle the sound as it rose above the hushed din of the restaurant. 

“Butter Biscuit. Puddin’ Pants. Sugar Dick?” 

Killian lurched in his chair as the toe of her shoe met his shin. 

“I am _not_ calling you Sugar Dick.” It was hysterical, but she shot him a little bitchface on principle. “I don’t do pet names. No ‘baby,’ ‘sweetie,’ or ‘honey.’ They sound weird and give me secondhand embarrassment.” 

Not to mention – and she didn’t – that she’d never experienced with anyone the kind of intimacy a pet name-laden relationship begets anyway. 

**** 

Dinner was delicious and Killian left filled to the brim and holding a box containing Emma’s portion of their shared tiramisu, his wallet an extra $50 lighter, the bill slipped to the owner with a request it be forwarded to Ashley, the waitress and single mother. He hadn’t been in for some time due to all the seriously unfuckingbelievable drama in his life and he hated the idea of her struggling. He’d have left more, but knew she wouldn’t take it. 

Killian sang absently along to the radio, lost in thought with his hand stretched across the cab, fingers laced with Emma’s. He pulled out of it when she shifted in his peripheral vision. Unbuckling, she moved across the bench seat of the truck, plastering herself to his side. He didn’t even have time to admonish her total disregard for the state’s seatbelt law before teeth closed around his earlobe and a hand slipped down to cup him through his pants. Her tongue licked and laved, as she busied herself loosening his belt. 

“What are you doing, Swan?” A rhetorical question, considering he didn’t even get the full sentence out before she’d popped the button on his pants and lowered the zipper, mouth now working over his neck. 

“Well, you already had dessert this evening. Twice.” She sucked on his pulse point and Killian decided he’d take the rash of shit that would come from Will and Robin if he showed up to work with a hickey as long as she didn’t stop. “And I haven’t had any.” 

Nimble fingers reached into his boxer briefs, pulling his hardening cock through the front opening. Killian couldn’t get another word out before she shifted, ass sliding back in the seat and head lowering to his lap. Warm wetness engulfed him and he slammed back against the headrest. 

“ _Fuck_ , love.” Jesus, she was amazing. Sucking and swirling her tongue, touch alternating between light, teasing brushes and firmly stroking with her fist whatever she couldn’t fit in her mouth. The tight space between his abdomen and the steering wheel kept Emma from taking every inch of his cock down her throat but she didn’t need to. He was wrecked in a matter of minutes and pulled over to the dark side of the road, unable to concentrate on driving. 

She pulled off of him and scooted back across the seat more, pulling his arm to get him to move with her. Emma knelt on the floor of the truck and took advantage of the maneuvers the extra space afforded. In a flash she was swallowing him to the root. He couldn’t help the involuntary thrust of his hips or how his hands came to rest on her head, fingers tangled in her hair.

 _Bad form._  

“Sorry, darling.” Killian tried to relax as much as possible. He gasped when her lips tightened around him, sliding all the way from root to tip as she pulled off and looked up. 

“Do it again.” If the tone wasn’t enough to convince him of her intention, the lascivious look in her eyes sealed the deal. 

Emma bent her head again, this time all taunting and teasing. Killian took it in stride, teasing her back and wondering how the hell he was so lucky to have this insanely sexy creature want _him_. When she huffed impatiently he laughed and did as she’d asked, cupping the back of her head with one hand and applying enough pressure to slide himself into that heavenly wetness. All it took was an experimental thrust or two, a few more guided bobs and an enthusiastic, humming moan on her part, and he couldn’t hold back. 

Fingers tightening in golden moonlit strands once more, he set a rhythm that had a litany of curses, encouragement and salacious noises falling from his mouth. 

“There’s a good girl. Taking every inch of me down that pretty throat.” He held her in place for a second, grunting when she swallowed around him, before taking hold of her ponytail and using it to guide her up and down his cock. He almost went through the roof twice, first when her hand came up to cup his balls, rolling them around and again when he saw her slip her other hand between her legs. The totality of the moment, both tactile and visual, worked its magic in short order. 

“Emma, darling…sweetheart, I’m going to come.” Her fingers pulled and caressed, and Killian felt the rush of orgasm, shouting, _“Yes, love, yes, yes, fuuuuuuuuuck!”_ and spilling into her mouth. 

**** 

He thought about a good, old-fashioned sex romp in his truck. She’d almost talked him into it, too, not that there had been many words. Emma had settled back on the seat next to him and taken his hand, sliding it up her dress where she was bare. He’d forgotten about tearing her panties earlier and it took every ounce of willpower to not jump her right there and rock both their worlds at the realization she’d had nothing on under her skirt at dinner. But a cooler head prevailed over the one in his pants and he promised her a good time on a soft bed before pulling back onto the road and driving to the river.

She looked at home in his home. Every inch like she belonged there. They’d worked some shit out, gotten some things out in the open, and Emma was more receptive to the idea of a committed relationship, but he could see her holding back. He wouldn’t put it into words past whispering them into the night after her breathing evened out and she slept under the weight of his arm but he was falling in love with her. 

As she undressed in his bedroom for him, turning slowly after he unzipped her dress and letting it fall off her shoulders, he wanted to lay his heart at her feet. So smart and beautiful, maddening and perfect; he settled on easing her down onto the bed to worship every inch of her. This bout of sex lacked the usual athleticism and rush to consume but Killian couldn’t remember feeling so connected to someone. 

By the time Emma’s back arched with his head buried between her legs, he was almost coming himself. He leisurely kissed her thighs, willing himself to calm down before trailing his tongue from navel to neck and beyond, sliding it against hers in a languid kiss as he sank into her. She had a second orgasm with his thumb on her clit, walls fluttering against the length of him, and he leisurely stroked in and out as she came down from her high. Emma’s nose brushed against his, once, twice and he linked their hands, lacing his fingers between hers as he picked up speed. 

When he came it was with his mouth on hers, desperate to stop himself from saying everything she wasn’t ready to hear. 

**** 

“Sweetie? Can you come here?”

Killian froze. 

Emma’s voice was casual – almost too much – and her words from the night before rang in his ears. 

_I don’t do pet names._

“Baby, did you hear me?” 

Fuck. 

He called back to her. “Be right there, babe. I’m making your coffee and my hot chocolate.” 

He desperately hoped she’d take his switching of their preferred drinks as a sign he knew something was up. 

Clad only in his favored boxer briefs, Killian moved through the kitchen and carefully pulled out the built in butcher block cutting board. Fitted into four inches of solid wood was a sturdy metal sheet and on it was a 9mm Glock.

After he bought the property, he’d outfitted a few hiding places for firearms on top of the gun safe he had built into his closet. It had been a testament to the Bond films Robin had brought over and made him watch in a thinly veiled attempt to make sure Killian didn’t drink himself to death out of grief after Liam had died, far more than out of necessity but he wasn’t about to take time to pat himself on the back when some shit was going down in his own goddamned house. 

He clinked two cups together for anyone who was listening to make everything sound on the up and up and scaled the stairs two at a time, bouncing on the balls of his feet. At the top of the stairs, he took a deep breath before sweeping into the doorway, gun drawn. 

Emma was standing on the far side of the bed with Gold. The pawnbroker had a death grip on her arm and the barrel of what looked to be a vintage handgun, hammer pulled back, pressed to the side of her head. 

“Good morning, Captain. How nice to see you again.” 

“Wish I could say the same, Gold. Say, shouldn’t you, oh, I don’t know…be in jail?” Killian wanted to do something to reassure Emma but he couldn’t take his eyes off Gold, not for a second. Not with Emma in danger. 

“You’d think so but then again, I own this town. A few well-placed stacks of cash and there’s no record of JG Gold ever being arrested in Bangor and several jail guards willing to testify under oath they’ve never heard of a prisoner by that name.” 

_That fucking giggle again._

Killian nodded. “So why are you here? You’re a free man. Why do something that will get you put right back in handcuffs? Why not disappear?” When Gold moved it was smoothly and without the help of a cane; just one more layer of ruse and distraction to keep everyone from seeing him for what he truly was – a lethal and dangerous man. Killian kept him in his sights, correcting the aim of the Glock as his target stepped away from the window, taking Emma with him. 

“So optimistic, Captain Jones. Just like your brother was. He wouldn’t get out of my way and paid with his life. Since you seem to be more resilient in that area, it’s just a matter of making you pay with something else.” 

Killian saw Emma’s nostrils flare. Saw her get ready for a fight – one he knew they could possibly lose if things got messy.

He gestured toward Emma. “And you think hurting her is the way to do that.” 

Gold took his eyes off Killian just for a second to look at his hostage but it was long enough for Killian shift his own eyes to hers and shake his head ever so slightly, twitching his trigger finger. 

 _Lord, if she could ever read between his lines, let it be now._  

“You’ve wasted my money. Wasted my time. That’s bad business, Captain. I tried to be nice and make your death quick and painless but I’m out of niceties and I’m out of patience. Miss Swan here might have been your last hope after years of hopelessness. I’d tell you not to take it too hard after she’s gone, dearie, but it’s what I’m counting on. Say your goodbyes.” Gold pressed the barrel of the gun more firmly to her temple and moved to pull the trigger.

Emma’s eyes closed as the shot rang out. She dropped. Killian scrambled up and over the bed to see where she had collapsed under the weight of Gold as he crumpled and fell, a bullet wound between his eyes. Pulling her out and up, he dragged her over the bed and swept her into his arms, holding her close as he carried her down the stairs and away from the dead body.


	15. Chapter 15

It started with a birthday card a month later. A bright yellow envelope tucked in with bills and junk mail, addressed to her in flourishing handwriting, the return address that of one Killian Jones. Emma didn’t remember telling him her birthday was coming up. She also couldn’t remember the last time someone other than David had given her a birthday card, and his always looked like he had spent fifteen minutes patiently waiting while a group of nanas selected cards for their grandsons just to snag something from the prim and proper section. 

The one from Killian was the exact opposite. The cover instructed her to put her finger through a hole in the card and when she opened it, the finger became the huge schlong of a nude Chippendale’s dancer. He’d signed the card “Sugar Dick.” She sent one back – no occasion needed - that read “I Fuck on the First Date” and signed it “Beej Queen.” 

From there, it became a thing to pass the time between proper dates (and thoroughly improper dates). Killian would stick something in the mail first thing Monday morning. Emma had started to time her patrol of downtown where the Post Office was located on Wednesdays just after breakfast, returning to drop her own envelope in the mail in the afternoon. 

When he was caught in a particularly time consuming leg of the task force put together to dismantle Dreamshade in the wake of Gold’s death, he skipped the usual lewd card in favor of something handwritten on a Bangor PD notepad. It just so happened to coincide with the vandalization of play structure unofficially dubbed “The Castle” down at the Storybrooke waterfront. Emma didn’t mind skipping the drive a few towns over to an adult store with a surprisingly large greeting card section to pick up their regular manner of correspondence. Not when she was busy trying to interview dwarfy little hooligans whose uppity parents swore would NEVER disrespect the town by tearing down a monument. Between dead-end meetings with special snowflake little shits, she managed to scrawl a note on a Post-It, signed with a flourish and an impulsive “xoxo” that she stressed about for days. 

Emma barely managed to keep her eye roll in check when Killian’s notes started arriving written on fucking _personalized_ stationery – a scrolling navy blue “KJ” embossed over a gold anchor. Emma toyed with the idea of upping her paper game from the yellow notepad she used at work but she already felt like they were slipping into some other realm where maidens were courted by handsome men who wooed them with ribbons and promises to write while they were away at sea. Killian could deal with her less than ceremonial parchment purchased in bulk at Office Max. 

When they weren’t in each other’s company fully embracing all of the unspoken pleasures of Netflix and chill in her small apartment over the winter or grilling on the back deck of his house in the early spring when they could fit in a visit (before fully embracing all of the unspoken pleasures of Netflix and chill) the letters became both catharsis and confessional. 

Killian’s written word was just as flowery and expressive as his speech and Emma envied his ability to pour his heart out when the best she seemed to be able to pull off was a light drizzle. He wrote about everything from his job and how important it was for him to honor his brother’s memory, to wild anecdotes about playing wingman for Will and the projects he had in mind for the cabin in the woods he’d been slowly fixing up. 

 _By the way, this is your formal invitation to come spend a weekend there with me, Swan_. 

That’s how Emma found herself swearing profusely at the tail end of an hour’s drive, crumpling the piece of paper containing directions to the property in Killian’s elegant scrawl against the gearshift as she put her car into reverse once she realized she’d missed the turnoff. The cabin was in a clearing but almost completely hidden from the road. Rolling past trees on what she hoped was the driveway, she could see Killian sitting on the large porch, a look of amusement on his face. She pulled up behind his truck and got out, shouting at him over the top of the Bug. 

“You can’t miss it, my ass!” 

He threw his head back and laughed, making a show of getting out of an Adirondack chair and stretching, a strip of belly peeking under the hem of a well-worn tee shirt that hugged his biceps. Like most Mainers, Killian adopted the “sun’s out, guns out” motto the second the snow melted even if the temperature was barely above fifty. 

“Trust me darling, your ass has been thoroughly missed.” He trotted down the steps. “That was quite a recitation of curse words you sent ringing through the woods. You kiss the devilishly handsome man in your life with that mouth?” Stopping just short of his booted feet touching hers, he tapped his lips with a finger. 

“Yeah, I do. Have you seen him?” Emma went to peek around his shoulder, squeaking as Killian’s fingers dug gently into her ribs. “Fine.” Up on tiptoes, she brushed her mouth against his, sliding her hands into the back pockets of his well-worn jeans. It was all the encouragement he needed to trace the seam of her lips with his tongue. She toyed with him, waiting until it tickled unbearably before kissing him back. 

In a less private setting, adult Emma might have been embarrassed to be making out with a ridiculously hot guy. One who had already executed his patented move, pinning her against the car door after kicking it closed. Killian’s hands were braced on the low roof, hips working in a dirty grind that had her more breathless than his talented tongue could do alone. But teenaged Emma hadn’t had a boyfriend - hot or otherwise - or a car, so she indulged in crossing off a relationship bucket list item that hovered chronologically somewhere around the still-unfulfilled “get felt up at the movies” and “go to prom.” 

She was just about to move her hand from the back of his pants to the front to make things interesting when he pulled away, bussed her cheek and stepped to the front of the car, lightly slapping the hood. 

“Let me get your bags.” 

“Chivalrous of you, Jones, but that would be ‘bag’ in the singular. And the lever for the trunk is broken.” Emma opened the driver’s side door, flipping the seat forward and grabbing her duffle, huffing when Killian came and took it from her. She followed him up the new-looking steps and onto the porch as he made his way toward the front door to the cabin. 

“Always a gentleman, love. Remember?” He punctuated his statement by letting the screen door close in her face and she flipped her foot up to kick him in the ass once she’d yanked it open and stepped inside, crowding behind him. 

The cabin wasn’t large by any means. The walls were pine, save for the exposed brick behind a small wood burning stove. A dining table sat to one side of the door and a sitting room to the other. Stairs went up to a catwalk loft. Despite the treed lot, there was sunshine aplenty in the small space and Emma found herself falling in love with it a little at first sight. 

_Much like its owner._

She’d been doing that lately – trying those scary thoughts on for size. They were coming with more frequency and less deep-seated panic, running through her head as she lay in his bed watching him sleep in the early hours before making the drive back to Storybrooke or when she sat at in her tiny apartment, contemplating for the first time a future _with_ somebody. 

“Earth to Emma.” Her duffle was gently swung into her leg and her eyes snapped to Killian’s. “I said I’m going to put this upstairs in our room then I’ll start dinner.” 

_Our room._

She liked the sound of that more than she thought she ever would. 

**** 

“Tell me about the best place you’ve lived.” Killian was leaning back in his chair, the front legs off the ground. He patted his stomach contentedly as if he’d eaten too much. The truth of the matter is he’d watched Emma hoover her plate of freshly caught fish and potatoes, and casually insisted she take seconds even though doing so left him without another serving for himself. Cooking for her gave him no small amount of satisfaction, as did seeing her get her fill. Besides, there was hot chocolate and fireplace s’mores for later. 

She speared a potato and pointed it at him before popping the bite in her mouth, talking around it. 

“In the system or out?” 

There had been a time he’d wondered if her past would be off limits to him. If everything there was to know about Emma Swan was in a small box, he’d all but run over it with a goddamned freight train by using her orphaned status as a means to hurt when he’d found out she knew details about Liam’s shooter. Rubbing salt in that wound was _a 100% dick move_ as he’d written in one of his letters after receiving one from her in which she’d mentioned a foster family. Emma had teased him about his multi-page apology letter, giving him shit about contributing to deforestation and reminding him a fresh start was a fresh start. 

Her willingness to start over and wipe his slate clean of sins wasn’t something he was certain he deserved but he’d done his damnedest to not make her regret it since. 

“Either one? Both? The lady may choose.” With a flourishing hand gesture, Killian waited, thinking she’d lived in so many places it would take a minute. He was surprised when Emma barely paused. 

“In the system, it was Ingrid. She always had ice cream in the freezer. She’d give me spending money every week like a real mom. We’d go to amusement parks. For a while, I’d hoped she would adopt me. She was alone, too, estranged from her family. But then she got sick. I was shuffled to a different foster home and last I heard, she’d…moved on to a better place.” 

Killian reached across the table and squeezed Emma’s hand.

“I’m sorry, love. That you lost her.”

Emma smiled wider than the topic at hand might warrant, and he wondered if she was remembering late-night bowls of butter brickle and allowance spent trying to win a cheap stuffed animal from an arcade claw game. 

“Since I aged out, the place I’m in now.” 

“You mean the place that has no food? Like, ever? Even when you know guests are coming?” Killian’s stomach dropped as Emma shoved her foot against his chair and he almost went over backwards, her laugh indicating she wasn’t really mad. 

“It got you to buy me groceries _and_ cook, didn’t it?” 

“Darling, frozen pizza from the gas station because nothing in your quaintly miniscule town is open past seven o’clock hardly counts as cooking. And we burned it anyway.” 

What started out in the kitchen as an impromptu lip sync and a teasing, mimed striptease to Ginuwine’s “Pony” on Emma’s part turned to a quickie on her couch that hadn’t been quick enough. The charred pizza was inedible and they’d kept their hand to themselves as one of the four he’d bought her for future meals went into the oven. 

“So what’s so special about your apartment now?” 

“Aside from the landlord’s inability to install a functioning smoke alarm? Because that’s pretty special.” 

Emma stood, gathering their plates and headed into the kitchen. Over the last few months, they’d fallen into a pattern of he cooks/she cleans, and he’d quickly discovered that trying to share any of her side of the burden got him swiftly kicked out of his own kitchen. 

“Storybrooke has felt more like home than anyplace else.” He could hear her plug the sink and turn on the faucet before walking back to the table to grab the serving platter and bowl. “I mean I really appreciated my first place. It was an absolute hovel but it was mine. No sharing a room or the hot water, and my address wasn’t the luxurious backseat of that vehicle parked outside. I was broke as all fuck-out, taking a bus, the train and another bus to a job that paid peanuts. But I was free. Now I’m free, have decent enough paying job and a few friends, and I’m living in a building that could be called charming if you have standards with some wiggle room. I could walk to work if I wanted to. It’s…convenient.” 

“And we both know your standards have some wiggle room if you’re with me.” He stood and took a healthy handful of her leanly muscled butt meat. She shot him a dirty look as he followed her to the sink. 

“You’re not doing any dishes.” The amount of soap she squeezed into the sink bordered on uselessly stingy – a byproduct of one foster home with a woman at the helm who was both intolerant of children who wasted her household products and fast to rain down a rap to the knuckles with a wooden spoon - and he bumped her hip with his as he grabbed the bottle and added more. He crowded her long enough for a good froth of to make its way up the side of the cast iron, swooped a handful of bubbles out and blew them toward her face as she shrieked. 

“You are so fucking annoying, Jones.” Wiping her face with her sleeve Emma made quick work of her task and wiped a wet hand on the back of his neck before drying off, snapping the towel against his thigh in delayed retaliation. 

“You’re gonna kiss that and make it better.”   

“You wish. And you’re also not wrong.” 

The last part was mumbled as she brushed past him and settled lengthwise on the small couch in the sitting room. Killian grabbed two beers, twisted the tops off and went to join Emma, handing her one bottle and putting the other on the tiny table that could fit no more than a few magazines and a single dinner plate. He picked up her feet and slid under them to sit, pressing his thumbs into the arch of her foot. The sound that fell from her mouth made his cock twitch with interest and he considered abandoning his little intel-gathering fishing expedition in favor of another couch romp, this time sans pizza burning. But Emma wasn’t often as candid as she was at the moment. 

“Have you considered moving?” 

“That’s the weird thing about Storybrooke – it’s like nobody comes in and nobody goes out. The real estate market is almost non-existent. _Fuck_ , Killian. That feels so good.” 

He was making small circles on her heel and watching Emma melt into the cushions, feeling another twitch behind his zipper at her words. 

_Down, boy. We’re getting somewhere here._

“What about outside of Storybrooke? You’d have to give up the walk to work but for the right place, a commute may not be so bad.” 

Killian hoped he sounded casual but his heart was racing. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping to get on the subject of her moving – _here, with him_ – at some point during the weekend. The drive time would be an hour for her, an hour and fifteen for him. 

Emma’s eyes were closed but the corners of her mouth turned down. And there was an awkwardly long pause before she answered. 

 _Fuck._  

“Oh, you know me, Jones. Not one for putting down roots and all that.” When she opened her eyes again, there was a flash of something in them he could decipher – _hurt? confusion? worry?_ – before her tone turned playful. “Why? Do my non-existent real estate holdings lessen the potential dowry someone may be able to wring out of David someday? I hope whoever it is, he’s willing to accept a kitten from the Storybrooke animal shelter and a scarf crocheted by David’s wife.” 

Emma sat up, the heel he’d been rubbing nearly catching him in the nuts, and Killian was momentarily preoccupied with helping her rearrange limbs to avoid being down for the count romantically that evening. When she slid into his lap, knees by his hips and arms thrown loosely around his neck, he let her take over the bang-up job he’d somehow done derailing the conversation. 

“I missed you.” Emma breathed the words into his ear, tongue tracing the lobe. He wasn’t sure if it was that, the press of her breasts against his chest or the subtle roll of her hips or a combination of all three that had him rocking up against her, and he didn’t care. 

“I missed you, too.” Killian reached up to the nape of her neck, threading his fingers through her hair and pulling on it enough to expose the long column of her throat. He kissed and nipped his way up her neck as she slid back on his thighs enough to trace over his thickening cock through his jeans. 

“I can tell.” Nimble fingers made quick work of the button fly on his old jeans and brushed against him with one less layer in the way. Emma slid off the couch, knees settling just beyond his feet. She took hold of the hems of his jeans and pulled, Killian lifting and shimmying his hips just enough to allow them to slip past his ass. They disappeared somewhere behind her as she knelt in front of him. 

The sun had set during dinner, the cabin now bathed in dim light from a scattering of small table lamps. The glow made Emma look soft and ethereal; a stark contrast to the fire in her eyes as she stripped off an oversized sweater to reveal a skintight white tank top, a black lace bra clearly visible underneath. The muscles of her arms and shoulders were impressive and he knew from her letters that she’d been spending extra time in the gym _“working off some frustrations, Jones, but I bet you know how that is.”_ And he did. His own workouts had intensified during the months they’d been doing this long-distance thing. 

Killian reached out and traced the lace cup through her thin shirt, pleased when she shifted slightly toward his hand. Cupping her fully, he ran his thumb over the nipple, bending down to bite down on her lower lip when he pinched gently and her mouth dropped open in a gasp. 

He didn’t have time to follow through with a proper kiss. She drew back and ran her palms up his legs, fingertips falling just short of reaching the bulge barely contained by black boxer briefs. Leaning forward, she pressed an innocent kiss on his inner thigh and the look on Emma’s face when she lifted her head was downright virginal, her voice sweet. 

“There. That’s for snapping you with the towel.” 

“I don’t know, Swan. It still stings a bit. Maybe one more?” 

Killian barely had time to finish the question before her head dropped and a wet, warm, open-mouthed kiss complete with swirling tongue replaced the faded sensation of the first. She laved and bit, switching from one leg to the other. The first time her nose brushed against him, he jolted, the second time, Killian couldn’t help but slip a hand under his waistband. Emma, always intuitive, abandoned the premise of soothing a non-existent towel injury, licking over the softness just under his fist. 

Fighting to keep from throwing his head back and losing himself as she alternated between feather-light teases and skillful swipes, Killian forced himself to stay centered. 

“Yes, love. Fuck, just like that.” 

Emma’s eyes flitted between looking up at his face and watching his hand as it moved under his boxers. Never shy, he wasn’t averse to putting on a little show in bed and touching himself but he’d never been with anyone as turned on by it as Emma. She gave as good a show as she got, too, and if Killian wasn’t mistaken, she had a hand pressed between her thighs to ease some of the ache right now. 

The other hand was pulling his waistband down, leaving no barrier between her tongue and his heated flesh. A few times she licked his fingers, providing a slickness that made his quickening strokes easier and categorically filthier sounding. Killian felt a pull deep in his belly and, giving his cock one last squeeze, grabbed Emma’s chin and sat up. He kissed her dirtily, pushing her backwards onto the floor, kneeling on his haunches between her knees as he stripped off his shirt. 

“Darling, you are a marvel.” He quickly pulled off her socks. “Up you go.” A lift, not unlike the one he’d done for her, and her jeans and panties were gone. Emma’s eyes glittered as they traveled down his chest and abs, resting unapologetically between his legs. He reached down and took himself in hand again, fingers curled loosely. 

“See something you like?” Killian canted his hips forward, fucking lightly into his fist, and reached out, brushing his knuckles through her slickness. “You’re soaked for me, love.” He sank down, moving slightly forward and he chuckled as Emma moaned in anticipation of feeling him sink inside her then huffed when he made no move to do so. Instead, he slid the head of his cock against her clit, slowly at first and picking up speed.

An arm flung over her face, Emma keened and he could only stand a few more passes before he had to have her. Cupping the back of her knee and pulling up to his waist, Killian sunk in slowly, only increasing his speed when her other leg came up, ankles locking behind his back. He was consumed by her and had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from whispering as he moved over her, their foreheads touching. 

 _I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you._  

**** 

The cabin was a new place, and new for her meant that by default, sleep was hard to come by. It took time to get used to new noises and all houses had their own soundtrack: dripping faucets, creaking heaters and ambient noise from outside. 

Emma was on her stomach in the bed – narrower than the gargantuan slab of cloud at his other house – with the sheet pulled down ass-crack low. The sting of the rug burns from the carpet downstairs sucked but she didn’t regret how it got there. She’d take crazy great sex with Killian on a bed of goddamned nails, especially if it ended with a makeshift blanket fort in front of the fire and her fill of hot chocolate and s'mores. 

Her fingers twisted in the lock of hair that often found its way down onto his forehead, his face loose in sleep. He snuffled a bit and it reminded her of a weekend she’d spent with him over the winter when he’d been battling a cold. Friday night brought a cacophony of snoring so loud she desperately rummaged through his bathroom at two o’clock in the morning looking for earplugs. When he’d worried the next morning that she was coming down with a cold herself, she explained why she looked wrecked. The look on his face and indignant protest had been priceless when she told him he had sawed logs all night. _(I don’t fucking snore, Swan.)_ But it didn’t beat the pure denial Sunday morning when she held up her phone, playing the video of him snorting and wheezing. _(That is NOT me.)_

Emma Swan had gone from one-night stands simply for the purpose of scratching an itch to regular, multi-night sleepovers with the type of man who made sure his medicine cabinet was stocked with swimmer’s grade earplugs the next time she came to stay. And now she was in his bed thoroughly fucked out, watching him sleep and wondering how she was going to tell him that the reason she didn’t want to put down the roots he apparently thought she needed in Storybrooke was because she’d already applied for a job with the Bangor Police Department.


	16. Chapter 16

“Get your boots off my conference table, you godless heathen.” 

Killian smirked as both Robin and Will scrambled to put their feet on the floor. 

“Two rude-ass birds, one stone.” 

Settling in the chair at the head of the table, Killian made a show of shuffling the files in front of him on the table, lining up his notebook and pen and propping his own booted feet on the table.

Will spoke around the Pop-Tart in his mouth: “You see this shit, Archer? Do as I say, not as I do.” 

Robin nodded in the affirmative before turning slightly toward Killian and shaking his head no, an exaggerated frown on his face. 

“Once you have these, Will,” Killian tapped imaginary Captain’s bars on his shoulder, “You can put whatever body part you want wherever the hell you want.” 

“And that, friends, is the story of how Captain Killian Jones became responsible by association for glory holes in the bathrooms here at the precinct,” Robin chortled. 

Killian cleared his throat and sat straight as the rest of the task force filed in, Zelena on their heels. 

The loss of Gold at the top of Dreamshade’s food chain wasn’t as monumental hit to the organization as they’d hoped, nor was Felix’s untimely death or the incarceration of Peter. In a tribute to Rogers, Bangor PD’s fallen officer and Captain America fan, the white board for the task force had been reorganized into a Hydra logo of sorts with headshots of key members at the ends of elaborately drawn tentacles. Months of investigation and undercover work had revealed a much more complicated hierarchy within Dreamshade than originally thought, and it appeared Gold, Pan and Felix were not the first, second and third in a short line of senior members dictating the operation. 

The most startling revelation was that there was one high-ranking member between Gold and Peter who was still attempting to carry on business as usual. They were represented by a blank sheet of paper with a large question mark next to the photos of Peter, Felix and Gold, the two latter of whom had a red “x” over their faces. 

“Zelena, how’s the tap on Peter going?” Killian gestured to his tech guru and sat, steepling his fingers and waiting as she gathered her laptop, making her way to the front of the room to connect it to projection wiring. 

“Thanks, Captain. The cellblock plant was a bust. Peter is far too savvy to give anything up to some random schmo in an orange jumpsuit. Our C.I. has nothing to report, either from rooming with Peter or lurking in the common areas.” 

Dejected mumbles went around the room. 

“He said our boy keeps to himself and is, I quote, ‘scary as fuck, lady, so nobody messes with him.’ We’ll keep the C.I. in place for another month or so to not arouse suspicion.” 

“Shit. Okay, that was a long shot and at least we tried. Make sure the C.I. gets some extra commissary funds when he gets back to city lockup.” Killian wasn’t surprised Peter was both exiling himself from gen pop and turning up the silent intimidation. Twirling in his chair, he addressed the group. “It doesn’t seem like these assholes are trying to recruit from inside. Which is smart on their part and fucking irritating for us. That means no loose lips. If anything, they’re likely to be tightening the ranks and keeping everyone in line. No rogues, nobody going off script.” 

Heads nodded and Killian gestured for Zelena to keep going. 

“At first glance, the phone taps appear to be a bust. Peter doesn’t call anyone, save for a law office. We have eyes and ears on the attorney with the assumption nobody represents the likes of Dreamshade without being suspect himself. Robin and Will have been doing surveillance.”

“So far nothing, Cap.” Robin stood to report. “He works, he goes home. His wife is in pharmaceutical sales and travels a lot. When we manage to get a pic, we’ll put it on the board next to his. No kids.” He sat again without looking, jumping as fingers dug into his ass; Will had snuck his hand palm up onto his chair while he was speaking. 

The room erupted in laughter. He may not run the most conventional of units but Killian understood the benefit of blowing off steam when the hours were long and the leads were few. 

Zelena sighed heavily, the wicked twinkle in her eye the only sign she wasn’t truly exasperated with her punchy audience, and waited until the commotion died down. 

“Now this is where it gets interesting.” All ears perked up in her direction, including Killian’s. _Interesting_ in Zelena-speak meant she had something.

“Written correspondence out of the prison has been regular. Our bad-assed villain appears to have developed a habit of exchanging letters with his dear old mum every Sunday.” 

“So? Captain, do you think some old lady is gonna be some higher up in a gang? C’mon, guys. Can you believe this?” The voice came from the back of the room, courtesy of an older, paunchy detective coasting his way to retirement sent Bangor’s way by a precinct in Portland, the tone carrying no small amount of scoffing. The bloated red face swung back and forth, looking for someone to agree with him but no solidarity came. Killian considered staring him down but Zelena was doing just fine shooting him her signature “you must be new here” stink face. Making a mental note to have the mutineer axed from the task force, Killian winked at her as Zelena made a subtle flick of the wrist, hand down by her side. Most would think nothing of it but everyone in the unit knew it was an ode to her “Witch” moniker and had everything to do with siccing flying monkeys on those who displeased her. 

“As I was saying, Captain Jones, these letters come in and go out like clockwork. They are horribly boring and mundane to the point where it read less like personal correspondence and more like code.”

Killian sat up and out of the corner of his eye, saw every spine in the room worth its salt do the same. Zelena punched a button on her laptop and an image of two letters side by side popped up. Peter’s was written on standard issue prison notepaper with a cheap ballpoint pen that looks like it gave out on him more than once. The other was typed from top to bottom – even the signature – and threw up a fuckton of red flags. 

“Wait! There’s more!” Zelena half-shouted over the buzz in the room. “I did some digging into Peter’s public persona. That side of him looks like a choirboy but there’s one thing missing: He doesn’t _have_ a mother. At least not one whom he diligently calls or writes weekly when he’s not behind bars. No texts, no email, no regular trips to church. This mother figure has only existed since he was arrested after the warehouse incident. I ran a few theories by a few colleagues in behavioral units and they concur my knee-jerk reaction to the composition of the letters.” Zelena took a deep breath. “I believe our second in command behind Gold is a woman.” 

**** 

“Are you serious? That bloated sack of shit thinks _Belle_ is running Dreamshade operations? That sweet little thing with the bitchin’ shoe collection and a face that screams ‘I sing to woodland creatures’? Where the hell did you find this guy?” 

Emma was sitting in her office, FaceTiming with Killian and plowing her way through a dinner of ordered-in grilled cheese and onion rings. She picked up her vanilla shake, struggling to get anything of substance out of the cup and saw his eyebrow quirk at her exaggerated sucking. She pulled off the straw and made a show of lewdly licking the melted ice cream off her lips, laughing as his eyes followed her tongue. 

Men. So easy to distract.

“Portland swore he has the department’s highest solve rate but I’m thinking that was a good twenty years ago and they shoved him onto my task force to get rid of him until he takes that permanent pension vacation. He’s fucking useless.” 

On the screen of her iPad, Killian was scrubbing his face in exasperation. 

“I don’t know why you can’t just come help with this investigation, Swan.” He said it rhetorically with his face in his hands but Emma’s stomach clenched just the same. 

 _It’s not the same as keeping the chats with Will about the details of his shooting a secret._ Was it? The more time passed and the further she went in the interview process with Bangor PD – all on the down low to ensure it didn’t look like Killian was paving her way – the more she waffled on keeping the potential move to herself. Especially after that weekend at his cabin when he’d brought up the possibility of her dropping anchor in or around Storybrooke. 

Most of the time he seemed like he wanted so much more, dropping future plans for the two of them so casually into conversation she couldn’t figure out what made him ask about her buying a place. Was he happy with things the way they were? A night or two when they could manage it, and the time in between spent living separate lives and writing letters, connecting with a phone call or text here and there? Maybe he thought she was a flight risk and wanted confirmation she wasn’t going to bail on him. 

 _Ugh._  

She masked a scowl behind a bite of her grilled cheese and checked back into their conversation. 

“Hey, it’s tough policing a town whose latest and most serious crime was a good Samaritan going around town pushing coins into expired parking meters, depriving Storybrooke of somewhere between one and four parking ticket fines a day.” Emma buffed her knuckles on her jacket and Killian laughed. 

“I’d love to see you this weekend but have to stay close to town. Can you make the drive out here?” 

“Um…sure.” _Because I’m already going to be there Friday for my final interview._  

They talked just long enough for him to make a half-hearted but very Jones-like attempt to talk her into FaceTime sex and disconnected the call. She turned her iPad and pushed the sleep/wake button twice, getting the same warm rush as always when the lock screen photo popped up. It was their first joint selfie, taken with Killian’s phone. Their faces were as tightly together as the oversized frames of her glasses allowed. His hair was sticking up in all directions; a byproduct of both sleep and having the strands twisted between her fingers as he spent a considerable time with his head between her thighs the night before. 

They’d been making pancakes, good naturedly arguing over chocolate chip vs. blueberry when he’d snuck behind her, palm sliding over the bare thigh visible beneath the hem of his tee shirt while the other hand brought his phone up. She’d tilted her head into his without a thought to her appearance – messy hair and no contacts – and the result was a photo of a couple who looked on their way to falling in love. 

She supposed that even back then, they were.

**** 

Her interview ran long. So long that Emma found herself ducking into the stairwell instead of taking the elevator downstairs to try and avoid being seen at change of shift. She thought she was in the clear, two steps away from freedom and the door when his voice boomed behind her. 

“Swan!” 

Killian looked around before breaking away from Will, leaving his detective standing awkwardly in the hallway, and took a few long strides and kissing her cheek. He lowered his voice. 

“I thought we were meeting at the house later. Were you leaving or just stopping to say hi?” 

Flustered, Emma found herself stuttering a little. 

“Yeah, well, I was, um…just coming by to say hi. So…hi.” 

Her eyes darted to Will for a split second, almost involuntarily, but Killian caught it anyway. He turned to his detective and back to Emma and his expression hardened. 

“What the fuck – “ He shook off Emma’s hand when it landed on his arm. “You two. In my office. _Now_.” 

**** 

 _What the hell is it this time?_ Killian was seething as he led the way through the bullpen, doing his best to school his features. _More behind my back crap about me? Liam? My own goddamned investigation?_ Or worse. _Were they a thing? Was she cheating on him? With his friend?_

He took a seat behind his desk, doing his best to not look downright murderous as Emma sat in one of his visitor chairs and Will stood at attention, his Captain not giving him the order to sit. The blinds around his office were open and there were more officers than usual milling about because of the shift change. 

“Would you two like to tell me what the hell is going on? Why Emma was sneaking out of the building?” He turned directly to her. “Come on, Swan. I thought we were done with secrets. And you, you fucking asshole.” He gestured to Will. “I swear, if you so much as touched her, I’ll –“ 

Will broke protocol and Killian wasn’t sure if it enraged him more to see his detective slip into friend more or if it helped ease his mind. 

“There is nothing happening between Emma and me. Not like that. We’re friends. And nothing more. I wouldn’t do that to you, man. Besides, she’s pretty stuck on your ugly ass and completely immune to my charms.” 

Anyone else would have earned a punch to the jaw but Killian knew Will wouldn’t lie to his face. Emma, on the other hand… 

He waved will off and waited until the door closed again before folding his hands demurely on the calendar blotter on the desktop. He opened his mouth to start his interrogation but she beat him to it. 

“I applied for a job here.” 

The words came out in a rush and it took a second for them to sink in. A job. She was here for a _job_. 

“What? Why? What’s wrong with the job you have?” Killian knew he sounded dumb but she’d caught him off guard. 

His first instinct was to jerk away when she leaned over the desk and touched his hand, the adrenaline that comes with anger still rushing through his veins, but she ran her fingers over his knuckles until he opened his fist and let her link them together. 

“Nothing, Killian. It’s a good job. I like the town. I like the people. But it’s not where you are.” 

_Oh._

He squeezed her hand, speechless as she rushed on. 

“I know I should have told you – even asked, really – but I didn’t even know if I could pass the exam.” 

She was looking at him so earnestly and with so much honesty in her eyes, it zapped any remaining ill will he had. 

“I don’t know what to say, Swan. I wish I had known, I could have helped –“ 

Killian pulled his hand away and stood, coming around the side of the desk to sit in the vacant chair next to her. He kept his distance knowing all too well about prying eyes but reached out a finger to touch her knee briefly. 

“No! No, that’s exactly what I didn’t want. I did this for me before anything or anyone else. I wanted to prove to myself I could go from a tiny town sheriff to, well, the bigger leagues. And if I’d ridden your coattails in, I wouldn’t be able to say I did this myself. And everyone at the top will know you didn’t call in any favors to get me here. I just…please, don’t be mad.”

He looked past her shoulder and saw that the bullpen was mostly cleared out. Anyone who was left was huddled around Will’s cubicle, yelling loudly at something on his laptop. It gave Killian the time to usher Emma out of his office and the building to his truck. He owed his friend one. 

**** 

It was quiet as he drove. He reached across the center console to take her hand but other than that, Killian seemed lost in thought. 

Emma’s heart was still racing from the confrontation in his office, still worried he was mad. She watched him, examining his profile and looking for any of his telltale signs of being royally pissed off. He looked more contemplative than angry, she decided. When they arrived at his house, he hopped down and jogged around the front of the truck, opening her door for her and helping her navigate the step down to the running board and then the ground. She was grateful since the shoes were new. A little on the sensible side for her tastes but it went with the two no-nonsense pantsuits she’d bought for the interviews. 

Twisting the key in the lock, Killian pushed the door open and stepped in, moving to the side to give her space to follow him in and close the door. He tossed his keys toward the helmet on the table in the foyer and missed, took his .45 out and placed it next to the keys with the care it deserved, and then stripped off his jacket and shoulder holster, hanging them both on the hooks near the door. 

Then he pounced. 

Hands in her hair, lips on hers, spinning her up against the wall. He kissed her messily, speaking almost unintelligibly against her mouth. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, love? That you didn’t want to be apart?” 

Emma slipped her hands around his waist, pulling him closer and pulling away at the same time. He braced a hand behind her head, drumming his fingers there impatiently, staring at her mouth, seemingly annoyed she was no longer kissing him. 

“I was going to. I was thinking about it and thought it was maybe what you wanted. But then we were at your cabin and you were asking about me buying a place in Storybrooke. I didn’t know what to think and almost canceled the damn interviews because I thought you wanted me to stay where I was.” 

The breath Killian blew out was strong enough to feel like a goddamned glaucoma test and he started to laugh. He backed up and took her hand, leading her through the kitchen to the couch. Emma went to settle on one end but he pulled her closer, almost onto his lap and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. 

“I was asking about you moving and commuting because I wanted to see if you were open to the idea. I didn’t want you to stay in Storybrooke. I wanted to figure out how to make this work and I was going to ask you to move into the cabin with me.” 

Okay, _that_ brought the waterworks. 

Emma melted into Killian, sliding her face into his neck and breathing him in. Someone wanted her. Not just _wanted_ wanted her. But wanted her every day. The good, the bad and the ugly crying as her tears wet his neck. And he just held her, resting his chin on the top of her head until she squirmed in his arms, twisting around to look at him. 

“Chief Hunter officially offered me the job before I left. Robbery division. He said he wants me in on the task force because of my connections throughout the state and in Canada.” 

Emma watched his face carefully, looking for any sign he wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of her crashing his party, legs still tucked awkwardly up against him. When he jumped up and executed a fist bump that made the one Tiger Woods always did look like amateur hour, she was completely off balance and almost pitched forward off the couch. Catching herself, she looked up to see Killian transition from his fist pump to what looked like a seizing monkey doing a touchdown dance. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Jones?” He looked ridiculous and Emma was wheezing by the time stopped whatever the hell it was and pulled her off the couch. His movements went from herky-jerky to smooth as he slid an arm around her waist and clasped their hands together, moving them over his heard as he turned them in a slow circle. 

“I’m dancing with joy, Swan. You’ve made me a very happy man.” He brought her hand up, kissing her knuckles. 

Emma allowed herself to be swayed and put her head on his shoulder, listening to his strong heartbeat under her ear. 

“You’re just saying that because now you’ll have access to all of my contacts.”

The rumble in his chest was loud as he laughed, pulling her tighter to him.

“Yes, that’s one reason.” He drew back and dipped his head, brushing his nose against hers. “But I’m happier that you’ll be close. Very close if you want to be.” Killian caught his bottom lip between his teeth and Emma wondered how she fell for someone so incorrigible when it came to innuendo. 

Teasing him back, she slipped the hand resting on his upper arm down to his backside, squeezing lightly as she pressed herself closer to him. 

“Really? How close?” 

His lip slid free of his teeth and she flicked her tongue out to lick it. 

“That depends. How close do you want to be?” 

Emma saw him draw in a breath and hold it and she knew exactly what he was asking. She drew up on her tiptoes so they were eye to eye, looping both arms around his neck. 

“I want to be as close as you’ll have me. Wait – Killian? Wait!” 

He dashed off into the kitchen leaving her standing there more than a little miffed. They were having a goddamned _moment_ and he just up and left.

But then came back with his offerings. 

“This ring has all the keys you’ll need. Front door, back door and the mailbox. Here’s a garage door opener. I’ll move the bike and some other stuff to the shed to make room for your car.” 

She stood, mouth agape, staring at the items sitting in his outstretched palm. To anyone else they might look like the shit someone might pull out of their junk drawer to give to neighbor offering to bring in while they were gone on vacation. To Emma, it was an offer of a _home._  

“I love you.” She blurted it out. Almost shouted it at him, really. And she was pretty sure he dropped the keys and door opener when she launched herself at him. The kiss she initiated was deep and slow, her falling tears wetting their lips. When they drew back, she giggled and swiped her suit jacket sleeve under her nose. “I’m such a mess right now.” 

“Hey!” Killian’s face took on a mock frown. “Don’t talk about the woman I love that way.” 

She sniffled again as he swooped her into his arms. 

**** 

God, he loved her. Sated and sleepy in his arms, Emma snuggled into him, their limbs tangled together under the blankets. He could say it now, what he’d been thinking all these months, and so he did.

“I love you.” 

She mumbled the words back and Killian didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing them fall from her lips.


	17. Chapter 17

So this was domestic bliss. 

Jockeying for position in front of the small vanity in the bathroom three months into her position as Detective Emma Swan of Bangor PD’s Robbery division. It was a comedy of errors that culminated in Killian bending over the sink to shave while she stood behind him attempting put on mascara when the mirror was four feet away. 

“I don’t know why you couldn’t have bought a damn house with two sinks instead of a ginormous shower, Jones.” Emma scowled as he ducked out of her way and she stepped up to the vanity to see her handiwork a lot like it did the first time she tried makeup. It was in eighth grade and there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she’d ask her foster family for money for such frivolity. With no cash and no mother to give her any tips, Emma had gone to school one day with clumpy eyelashes caked with shoplifted mascara and a dreadful application of eye shadow. The whispers from the other girls had guaranteed she wouldn’t show up to school again until she could do so without looking like Mimi from _The Drew Carey Show_. 

Elbowed off to the side, Killian used a hand towel to wipe off any residual shaving cream, watching her as she rummaged for a Q-Tip, wet it with a twirl on her tongue and proceeded to rid the area around her eyes of any wayward Dior BlackOut. 

“One, this is the first time we’ve had to share the bathroom on a workday. Two, there is another bathroom in this house. Three, I don’t recall you complaining about the size of the shower when I’m fucking you in it.” He kissed her cheek, simultaneously grabbing her ass, and Emma jumped. She went to pinch him back but Killian dropped his towel, effectively distracting her from retaliation. 

He wasn’t hard, not even halfway, but his cock had thickened at the mention of shower sex. It made her mouth water just looking at it. 

“Hey! Swan!” He snapped his fingers and Emma looked at him. “Eyes up here, darling.” 

“You play dirty,” she called as he sauntered out of the bathroom, all bare-assed swagger. 

“You love it,” he called back. 

And yeah, she did. 

Squinting into the bedroom at the alarm clock on her nightstand, Emma did a quick calculation to figure out whether or not she could demonstrate how much she loved it. Figuring they had saved a good twenty minutes by showering together in a completely non-sexual way, she made her move and rushed through the doorway, thinking a running jump onto Killian’s back would get the ball rolling. 

He was waiting on the other side of the wall and caught her around the waist, tackling her to the bed and pinning her face down, wrists caught loosely in his left hand. 

“Bad form, darling, trying to ambush a man.” 

She struggled, more for fun than to actually escape, as he knelt between her legs and leaned, licking a stripe straight up her spine and sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of her neck. Hips bucking, Emma made an attempt to throw him off but her heart wasn’t in it. Not when she could feel his cock lengthening against her ass as she moved. 

“Let’s see how ready for me you are, love.” His right hand skimmed down, settling between her legs. Emma lifted her hips as much as she could to help give him room to find her slick and wanting. A few shallow thrusts and she was wiggling impatiently. 

“Killian, we don’t have time –“ 

“Don’t have time for what?” Stilling his hand, he let go of her wrists and, bending over her, whispered in her ear. “Are you doubting my ability to make you scream?” 

She knew he could. If he hadn’t had her on every surface of the house in recent weeks, she’d had _him_. Leisurely lovemaking on the floor in front of the fireplace, impromptu, giggly sex in the dark of moonless nights, straddling him on one of the deck chaise lounges, and quick, dirty fucks on the stairs with clothes rearranged just enough to allow him to slip inside her from behind. And not once had she been left wanting; maybe shushed a few times as to not alert the neighbors to their amorous activities but always left breathless. 

That’s not to say she didn’t like to bait him. 

Emma shrugged noncommittally and knew Killian could feel it even as he was preoccupied nipping at her earlobe. 

“You’re going to pay for that, love.” 

A second finger slipped in beside the first, curving to hit – _oh_ – the perfect spot. The pace he set was punishing in the best possible way and her fists closed around the sheets, still mussed from their sleep. The symphony of sounds filling the room only added to the sensations: the filthy sound his palm made against her with each stroke, the grunts falling from his lips as he fucked her, and her own breathy moans. When his thumb found her clit and started to circle, Emma felt the roll of impending orgasm and the sensation built when Killian felt her begin to tense and switched to slow, pointed thrusts that hit her G-spot every time. Just as she was balancing on that precipice and about to tumble over, he pulled his hand back.

She knew the shrieking sound she made bordered on inhuman and she reached back to whomp at him, completely missing with each wild swing, as his head dropped between her shoulder blades and he laughed his fool ass off. 

“What the hell?” 

She could feel him grin against her back and there was no doubt in her mind it was shit-eating, tongue most likely poking his cheek. _Asshole._  

“Told you I’d make you scream.” 

The huskiness of his voice made Emma shiver, as did the smooth dip of his hips as he slid inside her until he was buried to the hilt. The pace started off languid, more of a grind than anything else, the space between them nearly nonexistent. When he braced his hands next to her head and shifted back, the movements became shallow thrusts, hitting her in the same spot his fingers had reached. By the time she was on the verge of peaking, Killian had pulled her up on her knees, one hand between her legs and the other wrapped lightly around her throat. 

“Right there, Killian. Don’t stop. Harder. Please, harder. _Yesssssssssss!_ ” 

Her fingernails bit into his forearm as she came and once the wave was over, Emma fell forward onto a heap of down comforter, opening herself up to him and rocking backward. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her firmly against him as he thrust forward. 

“That’s it, love. Fuck me back.” 

And fuck she did, along with some swirling moves and a few well-timed contractions around his cock. His rhythm stuttered after a particularly tight squeeze and Killian put aside all pretenses, slamming into her with a loud – and unbelievably sexy – grunt with each thrust. If they had more time, Emma would have sneaked a hand between her legs to chase down the second orgasm she felt pulling at the edge of her consciousness but instead, she gripped the bedding in her fists for leverage and threw herself into helping Killian reach his. 

Just as his whispered oaths started, she whispered one back. 

“Mark me.”

A final press of his hips against her ass and he pulled back, fist working furiously over himself, knuckles brushing against her skin. With a shout he erupted, his essence hot as it hit her lower back. 

Breathless, Killian fell to the side, wiggling up until he could fuse his mouth to hers.

“That was a surprise considering you’ve not left yourself time for another shower.” 

Emma stretched out next to him as he held his sullied hand up and away from her. 

“Maybe I like the idea of wearing a little of you all day.” She laughed as his eyes glazed over. “Now get a towel or something to clean me up, tiger. We have work to do. 

****

They were getting burned out. Emma could see the frustration on their faces as she surveyed the room the task force had taken over. Makeshift desks were piled with notes about leads that went nowhere, some neater than others. Even in temporary quarters, the different personalities were everywhere she looked. Her own space was neat and sparse in the personal effects department, investigation binders color coded and catalogued. Robin and Will shared a banquet table pushed against a wall. It was three-quarters of the former’s need for order and one-quarter the latter’s legendary chaos. The ceiling panel above was studded with holes; a testament to Will’s habit of tossing pencils when he was deep in thought. 

Surveillance of the attorney had become both their best shot and the bane of their existence. As dedicated to stopping Dreamshade as the brass was publicly, funding to the task force had recently been cut and double shifts trading off between the office and sitting in various cars “borrowed” from impound outside the lawyer’s house was taking its toll on the remaining personnel. 

When voices rose, it was usually nothing personal but out of the corner of her eye, she saw the start of a scuffle. A patrolman had Will by the collar and push was very much coming to shove. Before she could move between them, Killian’s command voice rung out. 

“Enough!” 

By the time the uniformed officer was dismissed once it was determined they were both blowing off steam and Will came back into the room looking properly put into place – and followed - by his superior, Emma had already decided to offer up a reprieve. 

“Captain, why don’t I take the first watch tonight? I’m just waiting on a few calls back and don’t expect them until morning anyway.” 

She let her eyes bore into Will’s until she knew he understood the suggestion was mostly for his benefit. As Killian looked at the clock and reluctantly agreed a break was in order, she urged him to go with Will and Robin, ushering them out the door. Robin squeezed her arm and promised to relieve her once he got some rest and Will mouthed a grateful “thank you.” 

“Head home for a bit, Captain.” 

His eyebrows shot up. 

“Is that an order, Detective?” He was leaning against the doorway, thumbs hooked into his belt buckle, and one hundred percent flirty as he ran his tongue over his teeth. 

Emma took quick look around him to make sure nobody else was in earshot. 

“Do you want it to be?” 

“Darling, you have no idea.” He tossed her a wink and left before his detectives took off without him. 

Rolling her eyes at the stench of testosterone in the room, she pulled a bag from under her workspace. Years of chasing bail jumpers had given her no small amount of experience in surveillance, and over the years her personal stash of equipment had grown. There was nothing less dignified than sitting in a car with a shitty pair of binoculars and an off-brand disposable camera, hoping a mark would come close enough for a peek and a pic. It had been a long time since she’d needed to use any of it for work but the high quality camera had come in handy taking her Instagram offerings up a notch or two. 

And maybe a few _personal shots_ of a certain Captain squirreled away on a jump drive at home. 

There was an hour before she needed to be outside the attorney’s house, leaving her just enough time to sign a vehicle out of impound and grab her own late dinner. 

**** 

“What if you get sick of seeing her all the time?” 

Killian tossed a French fry across the table at Will that landed in the detective’s pint glass. He put his arms up in a field goal “it’s good” gesture and picked up his own beer. 

“You’re buying me another one if it tastes like salt.” Will fished the fry out and took a tentative sip of the ale, wrinkling his nose. He pushed the glass away, nearly tipping it over and flipped Killian the bird. “Go get me another one.” 

“Or you could go fuck yourself. That’s what you get for telling me I’ll get sick of Emma.” Saluting Will with his bottle Killian emptied it in two gulping, frat boy sips and belched, thumping himself on the chest.

“Keep doing that and she’ll get sick of you first.” Will’s nose wrinkled with distaste – rich coming from someone who thought a committed relationship meant agreeing to get her an Uber before the sun rose – and he slid out of the booth to get another, tripping on the foot Killian stuck in his way. 

“He’s still charged from that thing with the uniform at the office and being his prickish self about it but it’s a valid question.” Robin took a large bite of burger and chewed, holding Killian’s gaze when he looked up. 

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, pulling his leg back under the table and scooting back toward the middle of the seat. “And it’s not that I haven’t thought about it. But I’m so ready for this Rob. You know? I’m more worried she’s the one who isn’t ready for it.” 

“Emma seems the cautious sort. I’ve seen you two work together and it’s nothing short of magic. It may be a rough start but you’ll get through it. It’s not like it’s been smooth damn sailing so far and she still moved to be closer to you. And moved in with your ass.” 

Killian considered what Robin said and swung his head around Will’s torso as he came back with two bottles – one beer and one root beer - placing one next to his own plate and making a show of handing the other to Robin. Killian held up a finger to the bartender and pointed down to the table. The girl winked at him and nodded, hurrying to bring another bottle to the table, all smiles and jiggling boobs. He thanked her and took a sip, shooting Will a look over the rim. 

“I didn’t know there was table service here,” Will grumbled. 

“There isn’t,” said Killian, “I’m just still a better prospect than you, live-in girlfriend or not.” He laughed as Will hunched over in his seat, mumbling. To ease his friend’s suffering he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Oh, don’t be such a baby. Dinner is on me and then you yahoos can hit the bricks.” 

Will grunted and Killian knew he was thinking about Emma stepping into the watch shift in his stead. 

“At least she’s DGP.” 

**** 

Damn good police, indeed. 

Emma’s inclusion on the task force had proven to be invaluable. She was quick, thorough and had connections most departments would give their eyeteeth to tap. If there wasn’t a conflict of interest – and they were already pressing right against the box of department policy with her on the task force – he’d scoop her out of Robbery and put her in his unit. 

With no small amount of pride, Killian had already mentally mapped out her trajectory in the department. Lieutenant in two years. Captain in four. And he’d happily sit next to her – or in the next department over, as it were – as she occupied those thrones. She was a natural leader, recognizing when her compatriots were getting burned out and needed a break, hence his ability to duck out with Will and Robin for a late dinner with Emma taking their surveillance shift at the attorney’s house. 

When he returned to the precinct there was a buzz of excitement that hadn’t been there when Killian left. As he walked through his bullpen, Zelena’s head popped out into the aisle, stopping him.

“Your girl there got a break.” 

“She’s not my –“ Killian was interrupted by a wave of her hand as he stepped into the opening of her cubicle. 

“Everybody knows and literally nobody cares.” The tip of Zelena’s toe was on the ground, swaying her chair back and forth. “Anyway, Emma asked me to do some digging on the attorney since this whole thing with Peter and his mother was a sham. Get this – it turns out his marriage is all smoke and mirrors. A perfunctory filing of a license issued to a Michael and Wendy Darling with the county but that’s about it.” 

Killian’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other. 

“Really.” 

“Mmmhmm. Their assets are in his name only: house, cars, investment accounts. The only thing that ties them together outside of the license is a safe deposit box that pre-dates the marriage but there’s a discrepancy there, too. As unmarried co-applicants, the bank required them to disclose the nature of their relationship.” Zelena held up a piece of paper. “The bank doc pre-dates the marriage license by a few years, and back then they were doing business as brother and sister.” 

“No shit.” He turned that over in his head. 

“I’m running an in-depth background on Wendy Darling right now. It may take a while considering the probability the name is fake. And there’s a snowball’s chance in hell these two are actually related. There’s more but I’ll let the illustrious Detective Swan tell you her news.” She waved him off and turned back to her emerald city.

The temporary task force room was empty so he headed toward the conference room, lost in thought. _Could this be it? An international crime organization would crumble because they couldn’t keep their fake-ass family tree straight?_ Then again, over the course of years on the force and hundreds of investigations, Killian had seen criminal plots fall to shit over less. As he passed the glass wall of the conference room, he looked up to see Emma by the white board receiving handshakes and a clap on the back from a few of the task force officers. He started to smile but a photo taped to the white board caught his eye.

It was blurry and artificially lightened, an obvious zoom job from long range with better equipment than the department budget allowed. It was taken in the dark but he’d recognize the face anywhere. Bursting into the conference room, he could barely keep himself from yelling.                                            

“Who is that?” Everyone turned to look where Killian was pointing to the white board but Emma was the one to speak.

“The surveillance paid off, Captain. That’s Wendy Darling, the woman we believe is posing as the attorney’s wife. Zelena is working on whether or not that’s an alias –“ 

Killian put his hand up, effectively cutting her off. He clenched his jaw before speaking, trying to quell the rage he felt bubbling up to the surface. 

“Tell Zelena there’s no need. Her name is Milah.”


	18. Chapter 18

Killian didn’t even turn around when she pushed open the heavy door leading to the roof. The squeak of the hinges was loud, muffled only slightly by the steady rain falling. He’d delivered a short, clipped report that bordered on militant and gave Zelena a jumping off point for delving into Milah’s past and present, and then disappeared. 

From the looks of things, he’d been up in the area dubbed the Crow’s Nest by the first Captain Jones since then. The shoulders of his department-issued polo shirt were dark and shiny, saturated with water; his hair so wet it looked almost black in the dim light provided by a utilitarian fixture mounted above the door and what little could seep through the dense, dark cloud cover. Stepping slightly to the left, Emma could see his fists and jaw were flexing to the same beat, a ghost from his past and the crashing weight of the previously unknown fueling the metronome. 

“Is there something I can do for you, Detective Swan?” 

His tone was measured but Emma could sense his anger under the surface, not that she could blame him, and she kept her own mild and professional. 

“Not at the moment. Is there something I can do for _you_ , Captain Jones?” 

He turned toward her, eyes a glittery blue. For a split second he reminded her of how he had looked all those months ago on the side of the road outside downtown Storybrooke, all damaged and dangerous. Then his expression softened and he offered a small smile. 

“Killian will do.” 

Emma huffed a breath out and smiled back, stepping toward him. He didn’t move when her hands brushed against the sides of his torso or when they slid around to his back. The hug was one-sided for a moment before he rushed her, enveloping her in his arms. One hand slipped to the nape of her neck and he buried his nose into her hair. 

In another time and place, she’d tease him about letting the opportunity to weave an innuendo into the conversation pass without so much as a move to undo his zipper at her offer to do something for him. But the absence of any of his usual frat boy frivolity was all the cue she needed that this was going to hit him hard. 

**** 

They swayed in the night unbothered by the rain and the silence. The gentle movement was a stark contrast to the thoughts racing through his head. 

_Milah._

_Milah was Dreamshade._  

She’d spent the years since she broke their engagement traveling at a breakneck speed in the opposite direction as he, heading toward thievery and chaos while Killian continued on the path of service and order. There was no doubt in his mind that the older man she’d left him for was Gold. At the time, the necessity to seek out answers and names had felt futile, especially with Liam as the angel on his shoulder telling him to forget about her and move on. It had been easy throwing himself into his Naval duties then following his brother into the department. 

_Liam._

The most bitter pill to swallow wasn’t that she’d left him. It wasn’t even that she’d hopped off his dick and straight onto Gold’s. It was that Milah, despite knowing Liam and coming a walk down the aisle away from having him become family, may have had direct culpability in his death. 

“Gonna need that hair to stay attached to my head for a decent ponytail, Jones.” 

“Ah, hell. Sorry.” He stepped back from her. “I didn’t realize I had the Kung-Fu Grip going on there.”

She fluffed her hair off her neck but stayed close and Killian scrubbed his face with one hand before dropping his forehead to hers. 

“This is an unbelievable clusterfuck.” 

And it was. Before, when it was just Gold, Peter, Felix and a bunch of nameless, faceless assholes it was all still personal. The loss of brother and Officer Rogers’ lives and closeness to which he came nearly losing Emma’s and his own were already unforgivable. Knowing someone he’d once loved who had warmed his bed and filled his head with dreams of a future had been complicit in all of it was beyond reprehensible. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the word circling around the bullpen. Will also tossed out a ‘fuckpuppetry,” which I thought had a certain poetic quality.” 

Emma’s chilled hands rubbed over his upper arms and it dawned on him how long they’d been out in the elements. 

“We should go inside.” 

He drew the heavy door open, wincing at the shrieking scrape of the hinges and motioned her to go first. She ducked inside the access stairwell to the roof but stopped abruptly and he barreled into her when the door swung shut, bathing them in pitch black. Killian caught her by the waist just before she pitched forward and felt her attempting to move aside to let him pass. 

“You should go first. People will talk if we come together.” 

Despite the gravity of the situation, Killian couldn’t help but tease, gripping her waist tighter and pulling Emma flush against him. 

“Mmm,” he hummed in her ear and slipped his thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans, letting his long fingers dance just over the juncture of her thighs. “I do love it when we come together.” 

“Killian.” 

 _“Emma.”_  

If her tone held a warning, his held a promise and just to back it up, he used the looped denim to push and pull her in a suggestive to and fro, her delectable ass bouncing off of him lightly in the most intimate of ways. By the third pass he was half-hard, the adrenaline of recent revelations manifesting itself as arousal, and sneaking a hand up Emma’s sweater to circle a nipple until he could feel it straining the black lace of her bra. She caught his other hand before it could slip all the way down her pants and the desperation he had, both for her and to experience something other than sorrow and range, took hold.

“Let me make you feel good, darling. Nothing makes me happier than you falling apart in my arms.”

Killian could sense the war inside her head and restrained himself as he waited, settling on brushing his fingertips over the sensitive skin of her lower belly until she let go of his wrist and made quick work of the button and zipper of her skinny jeans. He was thankful for the stretchiness of the material, his large hand barely fitting in the tight confines but he was certain he could get the job done, even in close quarters. 

Her whispered “fast, Jones” was unnecessary, partly because he knew Emma loved and got off on the dangers of semi-public sex and partly because getting caught in a compromising position at work would be career suicide for them both. But he wanted – no, _needed_ – to be consumed by this beautiful creature that he loved so desperately and, despite all of faults and flaws, loved him back. 

Their rhythm was so completely different in this moment than their rushed encounter just the morning before. Emma was positively soaking as his fingers slipped inside her, hooking just so as his thumb relentlessly circled her clit. Killian couldn’t help but rut against her, not meaning to seek his own pleasure but feeling the build up just the same.

Her arm came up around his neck, cupping the back of his head and opening herself up to him just a little more as she arched. His cock was completely hard before long and Emma’s shift in position had settled the thick ridge behind his zipper directly into the cleft of her ass. He wasn’t sure if it was the location, the emotional charge, her bitten-back he shushed in the dark echo of the stairwell or a combination of all three but just as he felt her squeeze around his fingers and heave in a breath as she came, he did, too. 

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Killian did his best to coax her all the way through her climax as he rubbed against Emma, using the softness of her ass to get himself off. He dropped his face down onto her shoulder, the satiny curtain of sunshine cascading down her back muffling a moan as his knees almost buckled from the force of orgasm. 

As they worked to catch their breaths and set clothing to right, the reality of his juvenile impulse to come in his pants hit. 

“Goddamn it.” The abrupt sound of the short zipper on Emma’s low-rise jeans accompanied his sentiment and she felt for his non-drenched hand, squeezing it. 

“I’ll go downstairs and integrate. You go back outside, roll around a bit to get yourself good and soaked, and then grab your go-bag and change. Nobody will be any the wiser.” He could feel her reaching for the door to the lit stairwell and they both flinched as she pushed it open, flooding the cramped steps to the roof access with government-issue fluorescent light. 

Emma’s head cocked, listening for anyone and when she heard no footsteps heading their way, she went up on tiptoes and dropped a kiss on his lips. She squeezed his hand once more. 

“This can’t happen again here.” 

It wasn’t an admonishment, just a fact, and they both knew it. He nodded and watched her until the door swung closed, enveloping him in the darkness once more. 

**** 

“How’s he doing?” 

“Is he totally fucked up?” 

Robin and Will bombarded Emma the moment she walked back into the bullpen shrugging off her wet jacket, speaking over each other, yet still thankfully managing to keep their collective voice down. She’d be rolling her eyes if she didn’t know their hearts were in the right place, even though Will’s query was, well, all Will. She jerked her thumb toward the task force room, indicating they should follow her. With as good a lead on Dreamshade as they’d had since Gold and Peter’s incarcerations, she knew the office would have a skeleton crew if it wasn’t completely empty. 

She walked through the doorway to find the latter was true and made a beeline for the coffee machine plugged in next to an ancient toaster oven Emma was certain bordered on being a fire hazard. As she cursed the rude-ass person who took the last cup and didn’t make a new pot under her breath, she thought about the risky, yet wholly _hot_ encounter with Killian by the roof, knowing Will and Robin both knew better than to speak before she was caffeinated. Precinct coffee wasn’t exactly hot chocolate with cinnamon but sleep-deprived beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

Jesus. With as much sex and she’d had with Killian under completely normal circumstances, she wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with the way they channeled their feelings into fucking. They were now tied 1-1 in the random humping orgasm department. Maybe that’s what people with baggage do – find another person with just as much baggage and take a trip to Random Hump Station. 

Will and Robin had settled at their workstation, Robin shuffling papers, and Will pretending he suddenly found a sudden interest in organizing his four square feet of chaos. She flipped him the bird once she realized he was the coffee drinker without manners and he had the sense to look properly chagrined. 

Leaning a hip on the piece of plywood balancing on two sawhorses that made up their makeshift coffee station, Emma answered their questions. 

“It’s not the most fucked up I’ve seen him.” Robin and Will exchanged glances she interpreted as _thank fucking God_. “But this is a nut shot for sure. It’s not just that they knew each other once upon a time. They were _this close_ to getting married. Milah may not have pulled the trigger but chances are she wasn’t ready to throw herself in the way of the bullet that killed Liam. Or the one that tried to take Killian.” 

Will spun in his chair and tossed the pencil he kept tucked behind his ear up toward the ceiling. He swore when it stuck and didn’t come down, not that it kept him from grabbing another one just to have the same fate befall the second. 

“Before my partner here litters our finely furnished room with his number twos,” Emma chortled at Robin’s pencil pun, “we’ll go check in with Zelena. She said she’d keep us all informed when she finds a decent trail but it may help the Captain deal with some of this horseshit if he hears it from one of us. At the very least, it’ll keep him from having to clench every time he gets some bad fucking news in front of the whole group.” 

Emma nodded. They were just about as close to a real-life Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum as two people could get sometimes but she couldn’t have picked two better or more loyal friends for Killian. 

“I’m going to go home and get a few hours shuteye. I’ll have my phone on the night settings but have you yahoos as favorites. If you call or text, it’ll come through. If there is anything that comes up, you’ll let me know, right?” 

She hoped she sounded like the request was more professional than personal. When the detectives nodded and stepped out, Emma gathered her things and followed them out, stopping by Killian’s office. She knocked twice on the metal doorjamb to get his attention. 

“I’m heading out, Captain.” 

He rolled his chair back and she could see he had indeed changed his clothes. The black jeans had been traded for – _what do you know?_ – another pair of black jeans but instead of an official Bangor PD polo, he was wearing a cream-colored Henley with a blue plaid shirt she’d seen before and even worn herself, usually to avoid a naked trip to the kitchen on a chilly night for post-sex orange juice. If she wasn’t feeling the effects of exhaustion from her double shift creeping up and over the shitty cup of coffee she’d just downed, or the fact that she’d already had one hell of an orgasm recently, she’d be feeling that pull low in her belly at his rolled up sleeves and fluffy, nearly-dry hair. 

“Do you want to take the truck? I can drive your car home.” 

He said it at a normal volume and Emma’s eyes darted around, looking for anyone who may have overheard. 

“Why don’t you say that a little louder?” she hissed. 

Killian waved his hand and repeated what Zelena had told him about everybody knowing they were a thing and nobody caring. 

“Huh.” Emma stood dumbly, rolling that around for a minute. “Does that mean I can change my address and won’t have to haul my ass down to that P.O. box I rented so H.R. wouldn’t know we’re living together?” 

He slouched in his chair, fishing around in his pocket and pulling out his keys. Tossing them to her, he sat up straight again and sassed her, this time lowering his voice. 

“Darling, as long as you haul your ass somewhere and let me watch, I don’t care what address you use.” 

“Yes, I think we both know how…enthusiastic you can get over my ass.” 

Killian’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth rounded into a comical “o.” 

“Is that how’s it’s gonna be, love? You’ll hold a man’s desperate desire to be with the woman he loves against him?” 

He flatted his hand over his heart dramatically. 

“I think you were the one holding something against me.” 

Emma tilted her head and touched a finger to her chin, mouth pushed out in a moue. 

“Get the fuck out of her, Detective Swan. You’ll be properly reprimanded at a later time for that mouth.”   

The stuffed stress ball he kept on his desk whizzed just past her head as she turned saying, “God, I hope so” under her breath. 

**** 

The steady rain they’d experience on the roof had given way to a torrential downpour and Emma was grateful to have the truck. Her VW hated anything deeper than a superficial puddle and the thought of hydroplaning all the way home no matter how slow she drove wasn’t appealing. When the houses thinned out a bit and there weren’t poor souls huddled under umbrellas on city sidewalks, she even careened toward a few deep pools, hooting as muddy water sheeted up past the passenger side window. 

Pulling into the driveway, she decided to park as close to the house as possible, not only to cut down on the chance she’d slip in the mud walking from the garage to the front door but to save the floor of Killian’s man cave, aka the garage, aka The Garage Mahal. He cursed Mother Nature every time it rained and their vehicles left tracks. 

Kicking off her boots and leaving them on the front porch, Emma let herself into the house and closed it behind her, shoving Killian’s keys in her pocket before heading to the alarm panel. He had turned his home – _our home, Swan, for the hundredth time_ – into a veritable fortress and spared no expense after Gold unceremoniously showed up in the bedroom. The control panel was ridiculously complex and in the week after it was installed, Emma had managed to completely fuck up twice and had to make hurried phone calls to the alarm company with their own system shrieking in the background. She was used to it now and nimbly keyed in her code that allowed her to move through the house but locked and armed all of the exterior doors and windows.

Making quick work of a banana that had seen better days and a Go-Gurt, she went upstairs and considered face down/ass upping it in bed instead of taking a shower. But she wanted to hit the ground running when she woke and trudged into the bathroom. By the time Emma was scrubbed, smoothed and scented, she was so sleepy she found herself nodding off brushing her teeth. Throwing on a pair of panties, she slid under the covers and melted into a pile of down and dreams. 

**** 

“Captain Jones.” 

“Hello, Killian.” 

The voice was smooth and refined. Older. There was a hint of derision that, looking back, he guessed had always been there. 

“Milah.” 

**** 

Ships passing in the night. Or midday. 

He’d come home to trade cars after the sun broke through the clouds and burned off the early morning rain. Finding the helmet on the foyer table bereft of truck keys, he snuck upstairs to their bedroom to find her pants, wondering why he even bothered to check the helmet when she forgot to use it most of the time. 

She was sprawled diagonally across the bed, covers pulled down past her waist. She was bare from the waist up – and barely clothed from the waist down, he noted with no small amount of pleasure – and on her stomach, arms folded up and under her head. He took a moment to admire the lean muscles in her arms and back. By God she was strong, in more ways than one, and he found himself struck by his love for her as he often was in stolen moments like this. 

Getting back to the task at hand, he found her jeans discarded carelessly on the bathroom floor and reached into the front pocket, closing his fist completely around the keys before drawing them out so they wouldn’t jangle. On his way out, Emma thrashed a bit, fighting an invisible foe and he quickened his pace. 

Emma needed more sleep and he needed to get the hell out of there before she woke and asked where he was going. He didn’t want to lie to her face but he also knew he wouldn’t be able to find the words to tell her he’d agreed to a face-to-face meeting with his former fiancée. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating. I hope it's worth the wait! xoxo

“Permission to enter, Captain?” Robin stood in the doorway and paused when he saw Killian unbuttoning his shirt nearly down to the navel. “And to stick a few dollars in your g-string if this gets any more interesting?” 

“Shut up and help me convince my mother over here,” he jerked a thumb at Will, “that there’s no place to put a wire instead of being a sarcastic asswipe.” 

Robin came in, surveying the expanse of torso with a critical eye. “Why can’t you just put it in the normal place? You know –“ he gestured to his own chest right over the sternum. “If you do up a few more buttons it won’t be visible. And it won’t look like you’re auditioning for a lumberjack version of the Ice Capades with all that flannel.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s the problem now, innit?” Will leaned against the row of low filing cabinets under the window. “It turns out this one went for the Miami Vice pirate look back in the day. If he shows up at the meeting spot dressed like a soccer dad on family picture day, it won’t trip her nostalgia button. Oh, and there’s none of that easy-off tape left. If you wear one at all, you’re gonna have to 40-Year-Old Virgin it when the mic comes off.” He laughed when Killian cupped his hands over his pecs and winced. “I’ll keep the recording going after this little tête-à-tête just to hear you scream like a little bitch getting waxed.” 

Will pronounced the French phrase as  _tit-a-tit_. 

“Nobody is going to be seeing anybody’s tits, jackass.” 

Killian fell back into his chair, running a hand through his hair. 

“I beg to differ because one of your succulent man boobs just fell out of your shirt. Nice to see you haven’t been skipping chest day.” Robin gestured as he sat in one of the visitor’s chairs and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. 

“Fucking hell,” Killian muttered, trying to tuck himself back into the gaping flannel. 

At least his habit of never throwing away useable clothing was going to pay off. Milah had played the seductress when she’d called, leaning heavily on their past and even leading him down memory lane straight to the bed they’d once shared before the conversation was over. Pulling out the shirt she’d bought him one year for his birthday from the stash of clothes he kept in his office and dusting it off was a calculated move, and both of his detectives agreed following her lead and swerving slightly toward the personal couldn’t hurt, stopping short of actually indulging in any _tit-a-tit_ -ing. 

This wasn’t the first time a person of interest had played a baiting game and invited him out for a little chat to feel out the department’s place in an investigation. But to date, Milah was the only one he’d banged in a frat house closet. 

Still, he’d used his masculine wiles on many a suspect and C.I. over the years. This one just made him feel dirty. And guilty. As Emma’s acting Captain, he was under no obligation to keep her informed of investigative decisions when she was off the clock. As her boyfriend – _manfriend?_ \- lines were more blurred. 

Having Emma close personally and professionally was everything he never knew he’d always wanted but in the moment it felt complicated. Should he have woken Emma and told her about the meeting? Should he call her now and tell her? Was he reading way too much into his own misgivings about seeing Milah? _Fuck._  

Killian leaned forward, bracing both elbows on his desk, hands fisting and twisting in his hair. 

“I hope you don’t handle your dick like that. Rip your shit straight off.” 

Giving his hair one last yank, Killian picked up the closest thing on his desk and chucked it at Will. The Post-Its collided with the Kleenex box Robin had thrown, sending both items off course and crashing to the ground before they could hit their target, which flipped them both off cheekily. 

“How I handle my dick is my own business. But for your information, it’s never complained.” 

“Maybe, but I’m sensing you’re a little conflicted about the meet up. Could that have anything to do with, say, the other dick handler in your life?” 

Killian laughed in spite of himself. 

“ _Please_ refer to Detective Swan as my dick handler to her face and let me be there when you do. Call it and the subsequent entertainment that will come when she sticks a boot so far up your ass you’ll be banging it and blowing it at the same time an early Christmas present. Pretty please with sugar on top.” 

Before Will could keep the banter going, Robin held up a hand. 

“If you two keep at it, Cinderella is going to miss the ball.” He turned toward Killian. “Look, we’re nowhere near being able to charge Milah for anything related to Dreamshade. At best, her connection to the organization is circumstantial and any defense attorney worth their salt would be able to squeeze some serious reasonable doubt from the piddly bit of evidence we do have.” 

"That’s even if the D.A. was inclined to entertain fraud charges for the discrepancies between the marriage license and the deposit box paperwork,” interrupted Will. 

“Right.” Robin tossed a finger gun in his partner’s direction. “But that’s small shit, Captain. Unless Milah has a record a mile long Zelena hasn’t uncovered yet, there’s nothing else to get her on – yet. The last time I checked, having known associates who are shady as fuck does not a convictable crime make. You’re our best bet to move this forward.” 

“Emma will understand that,” Will added. “It’s only weird because you’re making it weird. And figure out a way to wear the goddamned wire because Archer is right. We’re standing somewhere between jack shit and fuck-all in the evidence department. If there’s anything we can nail her with, you’re gonna want it on the up and up and on tape.” 

Killian was nodding before they could finish their little tag team match on his myriad of hang-ups and stood. 

“When you’re right, you’re right. Gather up whatever Merry Men are hanging around the office and head out. No department vehicles, even unmarked. No uniforms or department-issued clothing. Milah wasn’t stupid when she was twenty and she won’t be stupid now, but neither am I.” Killian rolled his eyes at Will’s scoff. “Fuck you and the one-night stand you rode in on.”

“Hey, no need to hate just because you quit the game for some regular puss –“ 

“Say it and you won’t need to wait for Emma to kick your ass because I’ll do it first.” Patently ignoring Will and his unrelenting ability to make everything a joke, he addressed Robin. 

“Four cars to box the bar in that are far enough away to give the impression I’m alone but close enough to get there if the shit hits the fan. At a glance, I want everyone to look like a civilian. We know her associates will kill cops without a second thought. If shit goes down, and I don’t think it will, civvies will buy some time.” 

He waved them off and rolled his shoulders back; there was nothing like a little pep talk to get himself out of his own head. Emma had given them their first big break since the task force was put together. If it were anyone else, he’d make a courtesy call to the officer and invite them in on the next leg of the investigation. Just because the last time he’d seen her, she’d been asleep in their bed didn’t change the professional dynamics. 

Picking up his phone, he dialed and settled in desk chair once more, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. 

**** 

“Hello, Captain Jones.” 

Taking the phone into the closet, Emma looked around looking for something to wear over her camisole. Having a walk-in was a dream. And, in another lifetime, having to keep it neat and orderly would have been a nightmare. But Killian’s time in the Navy had provided him with deep-seated neuroses – _they’re simply good habits, Swan, no need to exaggerate_ – and a well-organized closet was one of them. 

At first, her side was pitifully sparse; her small apartment didn’t exactly lend itself to large wardrobes. She’d bought a few more things to fill in the gaps, mostly at Killian’s suggestion. For a guy who seemed to keep every stitch of fabric he’d ever worn, he was surprisingly fashionable. 

“Hello there, my Sleeping Beauty.” 

“Beauty? The drool on the pillow says otherwise. Doubles are a bitch.” Tears pricked Emma’s eyes as she yawned hugely. “I saw you came home and took the truck.” 

“Given how dead to the world you were, I’m surprised you’re up. The last time you worked a double I made the mistake of calling and asking you if I could bring you a grilled cheese for lunch and you nearly tore my balls off through the phone.”

 _Gray or cream for the sweater?_ For fuck’s sake, like it mattered. Emma grabbed the closest one and walked back over to the bed. 

“Yet here you are calling again. That means either you’re a slow learner or something happened.” 

The laughter through the phone wasn’t the raucous tone she was used to. It almost sounded nervous. 

“Killian?” 

“Milah called.” 

The words came out in a rush and the difference in his demeanor was momentarily pushed to the side as an adrenaline rush hit. Something had come of those hours spent sitting on the attorney’s house. They had an in. 

“Really? That’s fucking awesome. What did she say? I’m putting you down so I can finished getting dressed.” 

Emma pushed the necessary buttons to put the phone on speaker and jack up the volume. 

“Okay, tell me,” she said, pulling the sweater over her head. Phone in hand once more, she went into the bathroom and balanced it on the edge of the sink to pull her hair into a ponytail.

“She wants to meet and gave me an address." 

“Classic power play with controlling the environment. Nice. Where’s the meeting?” She nodded as he named the crossroads of the bar, figuring her growing, yet still limited, knowledge of Bangor’s layout could be easily bolstered by GPS if this was an invitation, and fingers crossed it was. “Do you need me? I can make it in less than thirty.” 

“That’s why I called. Robin is putting together a team to form a perimeter. Since you broke the lead with the photo, I thought you might want in.” 

Oh, I want.” Emma made her tone low and breathy, purposely putting a little twist of seduction into her words. When she still didn’t get the normal width and breadth of an honest-to-goodness Killian Jones chuckle, she paused. “What’s up with you? This could be really good for the case.” 

There was a loaded silence on the other end of the line before he spoke.

“I – well, yes, but it’s…she was very…familiar.” 

A scuffle and loud bang came through the speaker followed by a litany of curses more befitting of his oft-flowery speech patterns than the current stutter. 

“Apologies, love. Banged my knee.” 

“Leaning too far back in your chair again?” she teased letting the conversation stall until she finished her hair and walked back into the bedroom. The phone went on the edge of the dresser while she made quick work of picking up the previous shift’s clothes off the floor and putting them into the hamper in the corner. “Come on, Killian. Don’t make me give another heavy-handed speech about knowing when someone’s lying. Or in this case, holding back. Just tell me.” 

And he did as she went downstairs and moved about the kitchen gathering a quick lunch to take on the road. About how Milah had gone straight past friendly to flirty, bringing up anecdotes of a personal nature and, as Killian had put it, breaking the confidences of the bedroom. 

“So she uses sex as a weapon? Better to know that now so you can figure out how to play off it.” Emma took a bite of sandwich – turkey and provolone on fucking artisan bread of all things because now that he could afford better, Killian didn’t touch the cheap, tasteless white bread they’d both grown up eating with bologna – and talked around it. “Or is this different because there’s history there? And the fact that she hesitate to bring up the time you banged her on the hood of your car or whatever?” 

“It was in the closet of a frat house, Swan, but yes.” A pause. “And then there’s you.” 

“What about me? Pretty sure I would have remembered such a romantic encounter as fucking some dark haired, blue-eyed scoundrel in the dark next to row of high school letterman jackets that smell like douchery and Axe body spray, and a vacuum that hadn’t been used since 1962.” 

“Ha, ha” Killian deadpanned. 

Heading toward the door, she put her sandwich down on the table smiling at the smaller motorcycle helmet upturned next to Killian’s, a swan custom painted on the back. She juggled her phone awkwardly while sliding on her jacket; it had shown up the same day as the helmet, hanging on the peg in the foyer. Black leather to match his, cut to hide her sidearm and the cuff case she wore clipped to the back of her waistband. Not one to be comfortable with accepting lavish presents after years of unwrapping either perfunctory foster kid gifts like socks or absolutely nothing on birthdays and Christmas, she’d repaid him in kind. She wasn’t sure what he’d enjoyed more – the new shoulder holster or the ambush blowjob when he’d arrived home from work that day. 

“I’m out the door. Do you have time to meet and talk about this in person? I don’t like the idea of you going into this uncomfortable.” Emma pulled on her boots and, grabbing her sandwich and taking a healthy and only slightly inhaling bit, went outside. Her car was backed right up to the front porch, driver’s door closest to the house and she felt a little swell at his thoughtfulness and saving her from a trek in the mud as she climbed in. 

“I’d love to see you but I’m not sure I’ll have the time. I’m trying to discern how to wear a bloody wire to this thing without it being completely obvious.” 

“You know those buttons on your shirt serve an actual function, right? They’re not just decorative.” Finishing her lunch, Emma started the car and let it idle. 

“Kick a man while he’s down why don’t you, Swan.” He sounded significantly more upbeat than before their banter. “And I don’t recall you complaining about the manner in which I choose to wear my shirts when it serves to make your job of undressing me easier. Plus, it leaves that many more buttons attached when you get impatient and tear them open.” 

“I’ve never done that,” she grumbled. “More than twice.”

He chuckled.

“Trust me, I’m not complaining, darling. Just merely pointing out the benefits my personal style provides. Unfortunately, that doesn’t include standard surveillance equipment.”

Emma’s hand slammed into her steering wheel at that. 

“Guess who happens to have a stash of non-standard surveillance equipment and just the thing you need?”

“Your love and devotion is all I need, Swan.” 

She could almost hear the dramatic placement of hand over heart through the phone. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“Ah, but I’m your idiot.” 

“Ah,” she mimicked, “But my love and devotion won’t get you through this meeting.” 

He mumbled a response. It sounded like _yes, they will_ but she couldn’t be sure. 

“If you grab the bag on the right side under my desk in the task force room, I can meet you halfway to save time and get you hooked up.” She put the car in gear and started to roll, telling Killian to meet her at the out-of-the-way lot the task force had been using as an off-site meeting place. 

**** 

“This is quite impressive, Swan,” Killian said as she reached up to tuck the transmitter under his collar. The tiny microphone was already on the clasp of his watch, mostly hidden by sleeve and designed to look like nothing more than a button to aid in the undoing of the band. 

“Yeah, well, one cannot excel at catching bail jumpers through LBDs and FMPs alone.” 

“The mental image is almost enough for me to wish to have met you under less savory circumstances.” 

“A few un-ticketed moving violations and a DUI you were allowed to skate on thanks to my generous nature and ability to recognize a kindred, fucked up spirit hardly qualifies as savory circumstances, Jones.” 

He looked down at her while she was preoccupied fiddling with his jacket, breathing in her presence like it was air and, in a way, he supposed she was. The trepidation of seeing Milah had been halved just knowing Emma would be near, and then seemingly halved again when she climbed out of her car and bounded up to him, going on tip toes to drop a quick kiss and elbowing him out of the way to paw through her bag of goodies. 

He couldn’t find a hint of discontent in her eyes that he would be seeing Milah again after all these years. Quite the opposite, actually. She was completely giddy over the idea that he could be bringing the department one step closer to bringing down Dreamshade, and waved off his suggestion that it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t brought in the surveillance photo. 

“Please. Someone else would have gotten the shot. Or she would have reached out to you eventually, even without getting made. It appears she shares her cohorts’ interest in the theatrical.” Emma ran her hands down his chest where he caught them in his own, dropping his forehead onto hers as he moved toward her. 

He swayed her back and forth, closing his eyes and trying to ground himself in the feel of her against him. In another time and place he’d be enjoying the proximity in a wholly different way but Killian wanted nothing more than to relish the quiet moment. Just the two of them in the here and now before he went to face a piece of his past that had somehow wormed its way back into his life. 

His mind started to race with all of the _what ifs_ , wondering what she’d reveal and how he would react. He didn’t know if he could handle having Liam’s death shoved in his face once more by a member of that infernal organization. 

“Hey.” Emma’s voice broke him out of his preoccupation. He’d been squeezing her fingers without realizing it and released them with profuse apology. She reached up and touched his face, fingers soothing the clenching muscles of his jaw and thumb tracing just under his cheekbone. “I know this won’t be easy. And that it’s hard to separate personal from professional with this one because of all of the unknowns. But you’ll get through it. We’ll all be listening in and just a few steps away.” 

Killian stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, stopping to scratch behind his ear. 

“I told you she wasted no time bringing things around to the proverbial mattress. Going in there and playing on our history has both benefit and drawback, especially since I took Liam’s suggestion and left it behind the minute she walked. What if you hear something you don’t like, Swan?" 

Emma looked surprised before her expression softened into understanding.

“Are you worried I’ll be jealous?”

“Well…” 

“Oh, Killian. Now’s not the time for jealousy.” Emma’s shoulders shook as she laughed and flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. “Do you want to fuck her?” 

“What? Hell, no.” Killian couldn’t help but physically recoil at the idea. 

“Do you love me?” 

“More than anything.” He said it simply, out of habit, and with no room for argument, not that the extra measure was necessary now that Emma hadn’t fought his feelings for her in quite some time. 

She stepped up to him, closing the distance he’d put between them.

“Then stop worrying about it. I care more about you staying safe in there than I do about your tactics to try and shut this shit down once and for all. You’ve lost more at their hands than anyone and you deserve closure.”

He rushed forward, catching Emma’s jaw in one hand and putting the other at her back, swallowing the last of her words as he kissed her. She indulged him for a moment, allowing him to tilt her head to his liking and flicking her tongue out to meet his. 

With a breathy laugh she pulled away. 

“Easy, tiger. We’ve got company.” She nodded to the car pulling into the lot and waved at Robin behind the wheel. As he walked away, she caught his wrist, soothing her fingers over his racing pulse. “Good luck, Captain.” 

****

“Hello, love.”

Killian could feel Milah’s eyes on him as he stood by the stool next to her and placed a bottle of rum and two shot glasses on the bar. The dark, seedy tavern she’d chosen as a meeting place was surprisingly busy for a mid-afternoon and she looked wildly out of place in the dingy surroundings. 

Always with a taste for the finer things in life and striving to push herself out of what she often referred to as a peasant’s existence, Milah was exactly as he’d imagined; he surveyed her casually with a detective’s eye, taking in her expensive, richly hued clothes – tight pants with a wide belt that accentuated her bust and blouse with sheer sleeves – and perfectly coiffed hair and heavy jewelry. If he didn’t know better, it would be easy to buy the public persona she sold as the wife of an attorney with a successful pharmaceutical sales career of her own.

Pouring two shots, he held his up and waited until she picked up the other one, meeting his toast. The flavor of rum was familiar, as were the dive surroundings and the woman with whom he shared current company. It would have dinged the nostalgia receptors in his brain if he wasn’t so busy attempting to look uninterested in how scrupulously Milah was looking him over, undoubtedly making first assumptions and cataloging details just as he had. 

“Killian. My, my, the years certainly have been kind to you. If I’d known this was how you’d turn out, I might have stuck around.” 

 _Bitch._  

“I’m surprised you agreed to meet.” Milah’s tongue slowly caressed her upper lip to catch a non-existent drop of excess rum. The move was slow and deliberate, and Killian was almost certain it was meant to bring to mind oral sex.

He had to give her props for pulling out all the stops. She didn’t need to know there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to get him to bite. Or lick or suck or bend her over the desk in the back office, and it was all he could do to not flinch when she reached out a long, manicured nail and dragged it down his chest and dipped it behind the last button done up on his flannel, no doubt looking for a wire. He sprawled onto the bar stool to her left as she fingered the cuff opposite the hidden microphone and slid the same finger over the back of his hand.

“I see you still have the shirt I gave you. You always were sentimental.” Her eyes bored into his as if challenging him to respond to her touch. A million and a half years ago, he would have slid a palm up her thigh but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He settled for twirling one of her curls and giving it a tug, pleased to see that the darkness no longer looked at home on his skin; not after months of falling in love with the sight of blonde sunshine wrapped both figuratively and literally around his fingers.

“Yes. Well, that was a special night. You gave me the shirt,” he prompted, figuring it wasn’t the time to point out keeping it had nothing to do with sentimentality and everything to do with practicality.

“And you gave me a ring,” she finished. “So like you, Killian, to do the gift-giving on your own birthday.” She sat back and poured two more shots. “Does the woman in your life now appreciate such gestures?”

 _Of course she knew of Emma._  

“In her own way, I guess,” he scoffed. To Milah’s ears, it would sound dismissive. To Emma’s he hoped it would sound like all of the other times he teased her when she became exasperated with what she referred to as her _jacked-up lack of natural grace_.

“Honeymoon over already? I’ve had some eyes and ears on your Detective Swan. She seems…prickly. But no doubt she makes up for that in other ways.” 

Killian picked up the shot she’d poured him and slammed it down, fingers gripping the glass so tightly he was afraid it would shatter. He wasn’t naïve and knew Dreamshade was always lurking in the shadows, but he hated the idea that they were anywhere near Emma. And that a bunch of thieving, murdering assholes were judging her then running to Mommy to tattle. He poured another shot to avoid looking at Milah as he answered.

“That she does.” 

The rum burned Killian’s throat but it couldn’t burn away the shame he felt reducing Emma to a piece of ass on tape, even as a guise.

“Hmm. Lucky lady. I’ve been keeping tabs on you, too. You’re quite a bit fierier than I recall. You showed such promise in bed all those years ago; I can only imagine how it would be now.” She sat back and pouted after he caught her reaching hand before it could brush between his legs. “You always used to be up for anything, Killian.” Her innuendo was clear. “Having a bit of trouble in that department these days?” 

“Hardly, darling. But I wasn’t under the impression this was a booty call.” He poured Milah another drink and nudged it in her direction.

“So you’re on the clock? Drinking on the job? Tsk, tsk, Captain. Maybe you’re not such a goodie two-shoes after all.” 

Killian ran a hand through his hair. A breeze outside had flattened it somewhat, undoing the twisted unkemptness he’d given it in his office. He discreetly mussed it again, hoping to look the part of a rogue cop with a drinking problem. If she was going to jump to conclusions, he may as well use them to his advantage. 

“So what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” He made his tone low and breathy and raised an eyebrow. 

“Old habits, I guess.” Milah waved a hand. “Sometimes it’s nice to come back to your roots. Let’s not pretend you don’t feel the same.” 

“And let’s not pretend we both don’t know you own this place and everyone in it.” Killian popped the “t” and, instead of another shot, drank in the sight of her reaction to the truth and the subsequent attempt to school her features. “Come on, darling, did you think I wouldn’t put it together? I may like my rum more than most other things but I didn’t make Captain without having some degree of perception. And a few tricks up my sleeve.”

 _Ah, there was the glint he wanted to see._  

“Are you saying you climbed the ladder through nefarious purposes?” 

Milah sounded almost proud and Killian shrugged, looking around furtively for show, not missing they were surrounded in a diamond pattern by her lackeys, and lowed his voice for the benefit of the ruse. 

“Are you saying you didn’t?” 

She tilted her head coyly with an eyebrow raised and waited for him to continue. 

“Perhaps. Certainly not as nefarious as some. I can play the hero part when needed but sometimes it’s more fun to pillage and plunder your way through. But you’d know a thing or two about that. Am I right, darling?” 

Her own “perhaps” was more loaded than a casual acknowledgement but nowhere near a confession and Killian knew that was the thread to pull. Milah wasn’t looking to confess her sins. She wanted to gloat. 

“How did you do it? How did you go from a typical girl in sweats and my tee shirts to looking like, well, this.” He reached forward and placed a finger on the pendant nestled between her breasts, the faceted red stone straining to glint in the bar’s dim light, pleased to see she soaked up both the compliment and his familiarity of touch. “And in an industry overrun with lost boys looking to belong and grown men looking for power. It must have been quite a change.” 

“One you didn’t seem to notice,” Milah snapped. The sudden change in her demeanor caught Killian off guard and he watched as she gripped the rum between them and took a healthy swig straight out of the bottle. The dull _thunk_ of the heavy glass hitting the bar hard must have fed the angry beast he sensed was swimming just underneath her surface and she worked to school her features once more before speaking again.

“I went in when we were still together. We were both young and you were talking about going into the military. I didn’t want to be stuck at home with a brat or two while you went off and sailed the world. I…met someone. Someone who could offer me more in life.”

“Gold.” 

Milah looked surprised and Killian could sense the bodies surrounding them shift at the mention of the name. 

“I suppose I should extend my condolences to you in the wake of his passing.” Killian couldn’t bring himself to put any sincerity into his words.

“Don’t. Rumple and I-“she paused at his quizzical expression. “It’s a nickname. Rumpelstiltskin. Gold.” A blood-red fingernail tapped against the rum bobble as he made the connection and she continued. “We went our separate ways, at least personally, some time ago.”

He sat up and squared off to the bar, letting his shoulder bump against hers companionably.

“Wanted different things?”

“Hardly.” She bumped him back and re-crossed her legs, the toe of one boot running a short way down his shin. “More like the same things. Power. Money. Control. Plus, he’d already fallen head over heels for that bookish fetus he ended up marrying.” The last part was all but snarled.

“You really don’t like coming in second place.” Killian forced a laugh and tipped another shot into her glass and tried to nudge it closer but she put her hand over his to stop him. 

“No, I don’t. But I’m a little light on local leadership. I could use a second in command. Someone who can come across as a knight in shining armor and doesn’t arouse suspicion, but also doesn’t mind getting it a little…tarnished once in a while to get things done.” 

“Is that a proposal? Because we already tried that once. Hey!” The slap to his upper leg was sharp but his yelp was more a veiled protest against the nails raking their way from his knee up the inside of his thigh. 

“Think of it as a job offer. The pay is excellent.”

“What about Peter? Isn’t your faithful, hardworking attorney husband-brother doing everything he can to spring that little shit from the clink? Or will that be part of my job description?” The thought of putting Peter back out on the street made Killian’s oath to protect and serve his community want to throw up a little in its mouth.

“I think Peter can stay right where he is so he’s not in the way. So what do you say, Killian? Are you up for the job?” Milah’s little finger toyed with the crease in his jeans but brushed back and forth just shy of his dick, pressing right up against the boundaries of his previous rebuke. “The benefits would be plentiful and to both of our satisfaction.” 

She’d been slowly inching closer and closer and the last word was breathed into his ear. The rum on her breath reminded him of every second he’d spent mourning Liam’s death in the depths of a bottle. Of every morning he’d looked himself in the mirror with self-loathing, hung over or still half-drunk. The last thing he wanted to do was get in bed with Milah, if only figuratively. Even if there was no Emma, no sunshine wrapped around his fingers in the morning or her unique blend of feistiness and passion that made him want nothing more than to be a better man for her, he still wouldn’t bite.

Milah didn’t need to know that. _Yet._

“Wouldn’t that put you in second place once more, love?” She narrowed her eyes, unpleased with his teasing. Killian didn’t wait for an answer and leaned away, discreetly elbowing her back and out of his personal space as he poured himself a shot to match the one left waiting on the bar and made a show of checking his watch.

_For Liam. For Liam. For Liam. For Liam._

The mantra made what he was about to do much easier to swallow. The brass may not love the expense of something akin to an undercover operation but they’d eat up the accolades given to the department if it could take down the biggest organized crime gang in the state.

“Why don’t you give me a day or two to handle some business? Maybe tie up some loose ends on the personal side to make some of this-“ he let his eyes drift down to her cleavage, “-go a little smoother. Then we’ll talk again about details.” Holding up his glass, Killian waited until Milah nodded and brought hers up in a mutual salute.

He held her gaze as he knocked back the shot and bent quickly to brush his lips against her cheek. Ever the opportunist, she turned her head at the last second and he caught the corner of her mouth.

Ugh. There wasn’t enough Listerine in the world to make him feel clean after _that._

Heartily clapping the right hand point man nursing what looked like a club soda at the end of the bar on the back, Killian boldly turned and saluted the rest of the bar patrons, none of whom appeared to appreciate the gesture. A few middle fingers even went up in his direction – an ode to the group’s general distain for police – but withered under Milah’s gaze. 

She had some degree of control over them. Good. That would come in handy as he took his place by her side at the top of the Dreamshade organization with every intention of watching gleefully as it crumbled to the ground. 

****

He appeared to be hyped after the meeting, immediately radioing everyone listening in to congregate at 1300 hours the next afternoon for a briefing and strategy meeting. Emma, still off the clock, received a text asking her to meet him at home.

When she arrived, he was sprawled on their bed with his face buried in her pillow. The only sound in the room was music she recognized from a playlist he’d titled “Chill the Fuck Out.” As Mindy Gledhill sang about anchors, Emma reached under his boots to find the laces and worked the knotted laces to pull them off, this socks following. She smiled when his toes wiggled in appreciation of their newfound freedom. It was unlike Killian to wear shoes in the house and Emma knew the meeting with Milah had taken its toll if he had forgone years of anal retention in a rush to face down/ass up it.

Climbing up next to him, she let him rearrange them both until he was comfortable.

“I’m going to hate every second of this, Swan.” Killian’s eyes were closed, his head tucked into the crook of her neck. The vehement tone was a direct contradiction to the next sound he made; a contented humming as she scratched her nails gently over his scalp.

“Probably,” she agreed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you? It couldn’t have been easy to listen in on some of that.”

Pressing her lips against his forehead, Emma murmured against his skin, “This isn’t about me.”

Not that Killian was wrong. She could live the rest of her life never again fiddling with radio buttons, face burning as her coworkers were all but handed a pair of binoculars and invited to sneak a peek through the window at their sex life, or hearing another woman throw herself at him. Regardless, she believed he’d done a good job of drawing Milah in without directly engaging in her advances, and that knowing Killian, the swerving was in part to minimize the direct impact the tone of the meeting had on Emma. But she was more worried about him and the storm she could feel brewing just under the surface of his skin as he lay in her arms. 

“Professionally, it’s a solid direction. She may be heading things up now but she lacks leadership experience. I highly doubt she was anything but ornamental while Gold was in charge and keeping her in her place caused a rift between them.”

He hitched a knee up, tucking one foot under her calf.

“The most lackey of the lackeys may pledge allegiance to whomever is at the top of the totem pole, but there’s a lot to prove.”

Pinned under his weight but not uncomfortable, Emma linked her fingers with his.

“It sounds like she’s not jazzed about the idea of Peter seeing the light of day any time soon.”

Killian moved his head slightly so he could watch his thumb rub over her knuckles. The gesture was soothing, and just as much so for him as it was for her she’d imagine.

“That’s the only fucking thing she and I have in common now.” He laughed humorlessly and fell into silence. Enough time passed that Emma thought he’d fallen asleep, the anxiety and crashing adrenaline finally pulling him under. As she started to drift off herself – the product of too-little sleep and a warm 170-pound human teddy bear wrapped around her – his fingers started tapping, nimbly working out the chords to the soft music playing in the background and using the back of her hand as his guitar.

“Professionally, it’s solid,” he said again. His finger stopped and he rolled away from her onto his back, hands coming up to massage his temples before sliding back into his hair. Emma propped herself up to be able to look at him.

“But personally…” she prompted.

“Personally, it feels wrong.”

“Because of Liam.” She said it as a statement and could see his chest fall with exhalation and his face soften in relief as she continued, ticking off every assumption she had. “Because helping the people who killed him regardless of how means-to-an-end it may be tears that wound back open a bit. Saying and doing things that go against the badge. Feeling like you’re betraying me in order to get closer to her. Getting pawed at in a dark bar like a piece of meat.”

The last one made him snort.

“Swan, you know me too well. It’s all of that swirled together in a giant clusterfuck. I know it’s all about playing a part but some of it puts me on a ledge I’ve stood on before but it feels even more risky. And falling isn’t an option this time. I have too much to lose.”

“Hey,” Emma said gently, nudging his elbow. “If it’s too much, just say so and we’ll find another way. Nobody will think any less of you. They love you as much as they loved him. They won’t want to do anything that would make them lose you, too.”

Killian’s eyes blinked rapidly and she could see the shine of tears just before a gross, exaggerated sniffle came out of his pretty face. Leaning over, she ran her nose against his temple and laughed as he caught her in his arms and dragged her down onto this chest.

“I love you so much.” He breathed the words into her hair, the cadence matching the rhythm of his heartbeat at her ear. “This is gonna fucking suck.”

“You all but told Milah you’d end things with me and my _prickly_ self. That means there will be no fucking. Or sucking.” She propped her chin up on his sternum just in time to catch the horrified look on his face and she busted out laughing. “Did you not consider that? She’s a lot of things, but a dumbass isn’t one of them. She’s going to know if I’m still living here. And probably won’t buy that we’re just friends with no benefits.”

“Well…now this sucks even more. Ow!” Killian flinched as she rolled slightly to the side and flicked his nipple.

“For who? I’m the one who has to play the part of the woman scorned. And ride it out staying on Will’s couch. Hey!” Emma supposed she deserved the tug on her hair and was glad to see his mood lifting.

“Come now, Swan. I’m sure the good Detective would offer you his bed.” His eyes shined with mirth and she knew he was thinking the exact same thing she was.

“Yeah, to sleep on the secretions of him and every other woman of a less platonic nature to whom he’s offered his bed?” She shuddered at the thought. “You couldn’t pay me to burn that thing to the ground and sleep on the ashes.” She watched as he fiddled with the lock of her hair he’d pulled, twisting it around his fingers and shifted up and off, propping herself up onto her elbows. “Ugh, and the couch probably isn’t that much better.”

“I’d pretty much learn how to levitate and avoid touching any surface in the entire apartment if I were you.” Killian cracked up at his own joke.

“You’re rubbing an awful lot of salt in my wounds for a guy who’s gonna break up with me and kick me out of his house.”

“Aww, don’t be too mad, darling. I’ll stop by for a conjugal now and then. We’ll just throw down a hazmat tarp. It can’t be any less romantic than a drafty stairwell at the station.” He slapped her ass.

There he was. _Her Killian._ They’d come so far putting each other’s broken pieces back together and she hated the idea of a ghost from his past coming to the present to do more damage. It might take a bit of work to help him hold himself together this time around, but it was work she was ready to do.

“Is that the only drawback? The cramp in our sex life?” She reached out and dug a fingertip into his ribs, relishing when he jumped.

“I told you that cramp was from dehydration. And you’d already came twice, so I’ll thank you to not remind me of the one time I couldn’t finish.” He pouted adorably and Emma knew he was deflecting. She waited, one eyebrow arched until he sighed.

“Fine. And maybe,” he muttered.

She watched as he stretched, arching his back until a strip of belly peeked out between the bottom of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans. When he settled again, it was still visible and she reached out, running her fingers over the soft hair covering his skin. He startled and grabbed her hand, probably assuming she was going in for another tickle. 

“You know. It wouldn’t hurt to practice those conjugals.“

And just like that, the halting hand was gone and on his zipper.

“Men. So predictable.” He didn’t even try to look offended.

Emma smacked his hand away and took over the job, unfastening his pants but not going any further. Instead, she pushed up enough to drop a kiss onto his lips, hand pressed against his chest. His hand came up to meet hers, the wideness of his palm almost completely eclipsing hers completely.

“We’ll get through this shit we’ve gotten through the rest of it pretty much since the damn day we met. Together.”

Killian started to speak; the look on his face and the glint in his eyes betraying his intention to rib her for another elegantly stated heartfelt moment _in the key of Emma Swan_ as he often put it. She stopped him in his wiseass tracks.

The kiss was slow and sweet; the kind she used to secretly envy while watching rom coms on sleepless nights after getting off and getting home from a one-night stand. For a long time, Emma had treated sex like a basic need. She didn’t go full-on _Pretty Woman_ and refuse to kiss on the mouth, but she wasn’t going to waste precious time with a lot of it. Not when there were more direct ways to coax a partner to readiness.

With Killian it was different.

She kissed him thoroughly and reverently, pouring into it every ounce of devotion she felt, hoping it would seep into his bones to help carry him through the nights they’d be apart. As things grew more heated, his tongue curling around hers, he moved to roll her over onto her back but she stopped him. Sliding a knee across his hips, Emma moved to straddle them, bending down to lick and nibble the spot just below his ear before drawing back.

_“Let me.”_

He nodded and allowed himself to be pulled up to a half-seated position. She slipped one arm behind him for support, while nimble fingers made quick work of the few fastened buttons on his shirt. As he worked his arms out of the sleeves, Emma ran her lips across his collarbone, relishing the flex of his back muscles under her hand. When he settled his head back onto the pillow again, she fell onto him, kissing and touching every inch of skin she could reach. She slowly kissed and laved her way down his chest and belly, spending extra time and effort on every spot she knew would make him gasp. Just as he started to arch into her, she moved down, slipping her fingertips down into the waistband of his boxers and walking back on her knees to pull the rest of his clothes off and went to remove her own. 

Placing one hand on each of his ankles, she slid forward fingers gliding over calves and thighs until she was on her knees between his sprawled legs, hovering over his cock. He was already hard and she could see his throat work when she gathered her hair and pulled it over one shoulder. Holding his gaze, she bent her head and licked the inside of one thigh and raked her nails lightly over the inside of the other.

Emma could have been wicked about it, teasing Killian mercilessly until he couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed fistfuls of her hair to guide her where he wanted her, thrusting up into her mouth with no preamble. Instead, she slipped her hand around him and swirled her tongue up and over the tip of him before taking him as deeply into the warm wetness as she could. She loved doing this for him, either taking charge or playing the submissive, and no matter the mood of the moment, he watched her with the same intense fire in his eyes every time. But in this moment, bringing him to the brink just to see him writhing under her, begging to have her or spill into her mouth wasn’t the objective.

With a few final twists of her wrist and long, languid slides up and down his length, Emma kissed her way back up his belly, placing her knees on the outside of his hips once more. His hands slid up her thighs; his only concession to her direction to let her lead and it was more than welcome. She moved against him, the slickness between her legs slipping over his cock, testing out a rhythm until his fingertips dug into her skin and his eyes fluttered closed.

Taking his hands in hers, she leaned forward, pushing his arms over his head and linking their fingers together. With a small adjustment she was sinking down onto him taking every inch, their noses touching as she started to roll against him. Maybe it was the heightened emotions of the day or the looming and hopefully temporary separation but Emma found herself overwhelmed by all of the sensations. She faltered, elbows coming down to his shoulders and Killian let go of her hands and wrapped his arms around her. 

Tucking her face into the crook of his neck as they rocked together, she whispered nothing and everything in his ear. There was no rush or urgency to finish and by the time she felt the pull of a lazy orgasm and Killian had slipped a hand between their sweat-soaked bodies to push her over the edge, she barely had time to tell him how much she loved him before he took her breath away, and she returned the favor.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been completely overwhelmed and honored by the response to this story. It started out as a fleeting idea that turned into twenty chapters of ups, downs and WTFs for my favorite couple. I had no idea it would be this long or that I'd enjoy writing a lengthy multi-chap so much. This is the final chapter, save for an epilogue, and I want to thank everyone who has been along on this ride with me. xoxo

“Alright, listen up.” Chief Hunter strode into the room voice uncharacteristically booming considering the meager audience around the table wasn’t talking. Killian was lost in thought and scowling as he often did lately. Robin’s ever-present hood was pulled up, his head buried in his arms in an apparent catnap after an all-nighter. Annoyingly loud keyboard ticks came from Will’s direction, undoubtedly shooting off a quick “got plans tonight” text to no less than half a dozen women to increase his odds of getting laid later. The only other sound was the faint sound of music coming from Zelena’s earphones as she toyed on her laptop. 

Emma had been zoning out herself, fresh off a crappy month on Will’s couch with the saving grace of newly signed lease in a month-by-month apartment swooping in later that afternoon to give both her back and her sanity a reprieve, and she startled when the Chief came in. 

“Jones, where are we?” He sprawled into the chair at the head of the table and turned to his Captain, motioning for Killian to stay seated when he started to rise to report. 

“This week has been a real turning point. I’ll admit some heavy apprehension over disbanding the task force and going down to a skeleton crew to give Dreamshade some breathing room but it’s served its purpose. Milah needs to move and she needs to do it fast if she’s going to retain her spot at the top. It hasn’t been difficult to slide in as her number two or convince her I’m legit. She’s desperate and desperate people do stupid shit.” 

Killian smiled slightly in Emma’s direction as he repeated the assessment of the reason for Milah’s gullibility she’d shared during one of their late night phone calls then gestured toward Zelena. “The witch worked her magic on the financials. Gold all but left the organization penniless, most likely to sabotage the chances of anyone carrying on without him.” 

“If he can’t run it from the grave, no one can,” Will piped in and earned a finger gun from his superior. 

“That’s it exactly. And what better way to stick it to his ex one final time than to leave his current and, by all accounts, completely un-corruptible wife every penny? It keeps his legacy intact and funnels the money away from Milah. She needs a big score to stay afloat and that’s what we’ve been working toward this week. Thanks to some pre-organized heists,” Killian air quoted around the word, “and the feds generously providing us some grease money, there’s a huge shipment ready to be loaded and exported. Detective Swan was able to combine efforts with her own contacts along with some of Liam’s old informants, and to Milah’s eyes, it looks like I’ve paved the way to for Dreamshade to once again use the port Liam helped cut off.” 

Chief Hunter nodded, fingers steepled as he rolled it over in his head. “Okay. I’ll send the info up the food chain.” He looked toward Will and Robin. “Detectives, I’m assuming your street contacts are still in place to confirm when the load is being loaded to go.” 

“Yessir,” Robin said. “The local recruiting efforts for the organization have dried up. Milah can’t handle any more potential mutineers if this goes squirrely, so everyone we have out there is working in an adjacent capacity.” 

Will agreed, piggybacking off his partner. “Eyes and ears without fingers directly in the pot.” 

“Perfect.” The Chief knocked superstitiously on the table three times and stood. “Keep up the good word. Stay safe. Let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, let’s keep moving forward to shut this down.” 

Once the Chief left, Killian turned toward his shrunken team. 

“Archer, get the fuck out of here and go home; Will can get some shit done while you take eight hours down then you can trade so he can go bang some random chick.” He good naturedly returned Will’s offered middle finger. “Zelena, if you don’t mind getting back to those spreadsheets we talked about, I have a meeting with Milah at 2200 hours. Emma, if you don’t mind sticking around for a moment, I’d like a word.” 

**** 

There was a shuffle of feet and some shoving as Robin and Will fought to follow Zelena out, leaving the door open at Killian’s request. Once they were gone, he shot Emma a look and jutted his chin toward the only private space in the room thanks to a wall of glass. When she joined him in the cramped space behind the door, he wasted no time crowding her even more, dipping his head to kiss her messily and with the desperation of a man who’d become accustomed to regular, mind blowing sex only to have it ripped away by these ridiculous circumstances. 

Emma gave as good as she got, upping the ante by canting her hips toward him, the thickening ridge behind his zipper fitting perfectly between her legs. Approaching voices made them jump apart and she cupped his bulge briefly with a whispered, “Call me tonight” before slipping around the door and out of the conference room. 

It took a moment to compose himself and will his erection away, the latter aided by an incoming text on the phone Milah had given him. For someone with whom he’d had enthusiastic sex with once upon a time, it amazed him that nobody could kill a boner faster, not that she’d ever stopped trying to give him one. Killian had settled for empty promises and the occasional lingering, PG-rated touches, telling her they had all the time in the world to explore something more personal once the professional was handled. The mix worked well enough thanks to Milah’s critical money situation. The drive to once again being flush with cash and maintaining the lifestyle to which she’d become accustomed was of utmost importance. 

That didn’t mean she didn’t occasionally try to entice him, especially when she knew he would be around Emma. Her text leaned more toward suggestive than vulgar, painting a pretty picture of some after-meeting intimacy and he typed out a quick “perhaps” with a winky face that made him die a little inside and pull out his other phone, sending a message to Robin to call him half an hour into his meeting with Milah so he could feign a matter needing his attention. 

**** 

“You don’t play fair.”

 She hissed it at him and Killian would have given anything to see the look on her face but the burner phones they’d picked up to keep in touch while apart didn’t include a video chat feature. He laughed and let his voice drop low into a husky drawl. 

“And why is that, darling? See something you like? Or should I say want something you can’t have?” 

The dick pic he’d sent her broke the mold they’d poured over the last few months that included teasing each other mercilessly when together and engaging in phone sex just often enough to scratch the itch the nights they were apart, their dual sexual frustration and Killian’s affinity for talking dirty quickly banishing any hesitation to connect this way. Tonight his meeting had run long, Robin’s stunt call overshadowed by a sudden shift in Milah’s confidence about the impending shipment, and by the time he drove home his thoughts were consumed by an overwhelming desire to risk blowing their cover, Dreamshade eyes be damned, and heading to Emma’s apartment. 

By the time he was in the door, he was hard and he wasted no time ripping open his jeans and shoving his boxers down far enough to pull his cock out. His own touch almost put him over the edge and he wrapped his fingers around the base, squeezing hard to stave off orgasm. A quick pic at the right angle made his dick look even bigger than normal and he quickly sent it to Emma. He had barely settled on the couch and didn’t even get to a ten count before she called. 

“You talk a big game for someone who isn’t getting any, either.” 

There was rustling on her end of the line and he imagined Emma on her back, hair fanned out over the pillow with a hand between her legs, teasing her clit. The mental image made his cock jump and he took himself in hand again, lightly stroking with just his fingertips. 

“Just you wait, love. When all this is over, I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t breathe.” 

“Is that so, Captain,” she said breathlessly. “And what part of me would you be fucking? I know you love me on my knees but that still leaves _so_ many options. My mouth? We both know how hard you can come when almost every inch of you is down my throat.” 

Killian’s hand picked up the pace as he recalled the time Emma had blown him in his truck on the side of the road. He did love to wrap her hair around his fingers for leverage as he thrust himself between her lips and he mimicked the motion now, hips pressing up into his fist. 

A faint buzzing sound reached his ears and he realized Emma was using a vibrator on herself. “Does that feel good, darling? Fuck, I’d give anything to bury myself inside you right now.” 

Emma keened in his ear and he pictured her in his mind’s eye, back arched and using her toy to get herself off. Between the friction of his own touch and an active imagination, Killian felt a faint, familiar tug in his belly that went into overdrive when she spoke again. 

“You still haven’t said where. There’s always my ass. I wonder… _fuck_ …what it would be like to be completely filled, your cock stretching me while your fingers – oh!” The sound of Emma shouting as she came pushed him over the edge and he jerked his cock hard, pushing his shirt up out of the way and grunting through his climax as white ribbons landed on his belly. 

“Jesus, woman,” Killian said when he could breathe again. “We’re going to need thirty-six hours, a padded room and a hydration station once this is all over.” He shrugged out of his flannel and used it to clean himself up, dropping his head back and closing his eyes. 

“Make it forty-eight if my ass is on the table.” 

“Your ass can be anywhere you want as long as I can have it.” He purposely made himself sound as lewd as possible, reveling in Emma’s answering laugh. God, he missed her, and not just the sex. He missed everything about her. How grumpy she was in the morning. The way she tucked in next to him after dragging her ass home from the night shift, dropping off just before his alarm went off and he had to get up. The petty fights about what to watch on Netflix and whose turn it was to pick pizza toppings. 

He was about to get mushy when his Dreamshade phone rang in his back pocket. 

“Swan, something’s up. I gotta take this call coming in. It’s Milah. Are you going to be up for a while? I can call you back.” 

“Yeah, I’m kind of wired right now anyway. And hungry. Love you.” 

The last part was second nature for her now and it didn’t even bother him that she said it distractedly; Emma looking for food was akin to a lioness getting a bead on a zebra. 

“Love you, too.” 

**** 

Emma swallowed a bite of post-orgasm Hot Pocket too quickly when her phone rang, hoping it was Killian calling back before remembering he’d use the burner phone. She was still thumping her chest to dislodge the food when she answered. 

“Swan,” her port contact said. “Hope it’s not too late.” 

“The sworn promise to serve and protect doesn’t exactly have banker’s hours, Rodney.” She took a sip of soda. “What’s up?” 

“I’m hearing some shit I don’t like the sound of down here by the water. Some yahoo was talking big in one of the warehouses just now when I was making my rounds, sayin’ they don’t – and this is a direct quote – _trust that bitch and the pig she brought in_. I couldn’t stick around without them seeing but it sounded like there might be trouble.” 

The chair in the guard shack shifted under Rodney’s considerable weight, the squeal of protesting metal on metal coming through the phone much louder than his hushed whisper. Emma cringed, and not just at the sound. Her mind started racing, thinking it was no coincidence that Killian got a call from Milah around the same time Rodney heard some nefarious shit. 

“Hey, thanks for the call. I need to look into this.” She was already making her way to the bedroom where a suitcase full of clothes was waiting. 

“No problem detective. I owe you. Thanks again for coming to talk to my daughter’s Girl Scout troop. Half of them want to be you for Halloween and the other half want to be cops. Take care.”

Emma tried to call Killian back on his burner and when he didn’t answer, she switched tactics, throwing on jeans and a sweater, and calling Robin instead, surprised when he skipped his usual pleasantries. 

“You get a call, too?”

“Yeah, my guard guy at the port. What the hell did you hear?” The phone was cradled between her cheek and shoulder as she pulled on socks and boots. 

“Will’s C.I. at the container company phoned him. Said someone from Dreamshade called to move the delivery to the dock from tomorrow afternoon to, oh, about two hours from now but it wasn’t the guy who made the original call. Off-hour deliveries aren’t unheard of but it’s unusual for this crowd. What’s up on your end?” 

“Rodney overheard some warehouse talk about not trusting the bitch or the pig. And just before I heard from him, Killian got a call from Milah and I haven’t been able to get through to him even though he said he’d call me right back. I think some shit is about to go down and Milah and Killian no longer have the upper hand. Where do you want to meet?” 

There was a voice in the background Emma recognized as Will’s before Robin came back. 

“Why don’t you just come here? If Dreamshade is splitting into two factions, it’s impossible to know who could be watching and listening. Just make it look casual. Don’t rush. Stop for donuts. I’ll call the Captain.” 

It took every ounce of self-control Emma had to take Robin’s suggestion but once she left the all-night bakery and saw the same headlights in her rear view mirror that had followed her out of the apartment complex parking lot, she knew he’d been right. The walk from her car to the building was excruciatingly long thanks to the radar sense her fellow officers had for donuts. They came out of the shadows to talk her out of their favorites and by the time she reached the guys in the task force room, there was only one left. 

“Okay, so we can’t get a hold of Jones. Fuck!” The expletive served a dual purpose: conveying Will’s worry over the whereabouts of his captain and his extreme displeasure at Emma slapping his hand away from the single remaining bear claw so she could stress eat it. “Protocol says we go up the food chain and call the Chief.” 

“Yeah…I wouldn’t do that.” Emma almost choked for the second time in an hour, startled by Zelena’s voice coming from the doorway. Their tech guru came in without invitation and shut the door behind her, pulling a sheaf of papers out of an envelope and laying them out on the table Robin and Will shared. “Those spreadsheets the Captain had me working on? They weren’t all to collect financials on Dreamshade. They were to collect them on Chief Hunter, too.” 

“The fuck???” Will grabbed one of the papers and scanned it, his face turning a whiter shade of pale while his partner did the same. When he was done, he thrust it in Emma’s sticky hands and picked up another. 

“It’s all there. He tried to hide it in offshore accounts but I have a friend who works for the government tracking terrorist money. Once the thread was pulled, the entire sweater unraveled. The Chief not only took regular payouts that can be traced back to Gold, there is a pretty telling pattern of bonus payments, the largest of which coincide with Liam Jones’ death and the kidnapping of Detective Swan, but those are not the most recent.” 

Will’s fist hit the filing cabinet at full force, denting the front even more. Robin dropped into his chair, jaw ticking with fury. Emma could barely see through her rage and the sudden fear at Zelena’s last words. 

“He’s setting Killian up the same way he set Liam up? To die.” Zelena’s arm came out as Emma sagged against her, overwhelmed and furious. 

“Well, he’d be in deep by now, wouldn’t he?” Will’s tone was clipped. “What’s one more Captain Jones out of the way when there’s another payout coming?” 

Robin spun in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He pulled you off the early investigation,” he said to Zelena. “Remember?” 

Gently pushing Emma upright, Zelena nodded. “I do. And in hindsight it was for absolutely no good reason. He played it off like they needed me upstairs; that it was a tough choice to pull me given my skill set. He was just trying to buy himself some time.” 

“And we’re about out of it.” Snapping out of her moment of fragility, Emma bounced on her toes. “So we know there’s an ‘us against them’ thing going on within Dreamshade. We know Killian received a call from Milah and is now MIA. And that the container drop-off has been moved up significantly. It sounds to me that the group Rodney overheard is going to swoop in and steal the heist right out from under their noses and, at the very least, cut out the two at the top. How literal or metaphorical that ends up being remains to be seen, but we can’t take any chances. That’s a lot of money up for grabs and somebody’s going to come down holding it.” 

Robin nodded. “So how do we want to work this? Divide and conquer? Cavalry? Brass? Feds?” 

“I’m thinking motley crew,” Will chimed in. “If we start bringing in all of Bangor PD, it’ll be like sending up a flare. Same thing if we bring in the brass. Who the fuck knows how far up the tarnish goes. We all have that one guy at the feds: the one crazy enough to tag along when the shit hits the fan and has a couple of friends willing to do the same. Call ‘em and I’ll call my C.I. at the container supplier. This is some high level fuckery by some unsophisticated assholes that probably aren’t used to calling shots. It could go downhill fast and the priority has to be getting the Captain out of there before it does.” 

**** 

Killian rolled his eyes as Milah sobbed behind him. He’d never been more certain the mutinying subsection of Dreamshade had learned all of their moves from watching bad spy movies than he was right now. He and Milah – christened the pig and the bitch - were tied back-to-back, messy, cracked-out Boy Scout knots that would make a sailor weep securing them to a support post in one of the dock warehouses. 

His fists were clenched to keep Milah from twining her fingers in his; he was completely unwilling to provide her any solace. Her phone call had lured him to the water where he found her held at gunpoint and bereft of any continuing authority within Dreamshade. To spare her life – at least for another hour or so – she had served him up on a silver platter, telling their captors his own Chief of Police wanted him out of the picture and would stop at nothing to boot Killian into the grave alongside his brother, confirming his fears about Chief Hunter’s bone-deep involvement. 

At this point, he needed a miracle. The newly delivered container was at the water’s edge and being packed as he sat on his ass, hands literally tied. He’d been in dire straits before but this time he was unsure at how wide the safety net Emma and the other detectives had cast was. He was weaponless, anchored to a woman he loathed with every fiber of his being and dealing with a group drunk on newfound power and the promise of a huge payday. 

And it just kept fucking getting _worse_.

“Captain Jones.” 

Chief Hunter’s voice rang out and Killian banged his head against the metal pole in frustration that he couldn’t get up and put his fist through his superior’s face. If he’d been angry at Dreamshade’s involvement in Liam’s death, the Chief’s had him nearly blacking out with fury.

As Hunter crouched down next to him, Killian didn’t give him the satisfaction of turning his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see he was in his normal garb, a look Emma had once described as the fashion version of a Subaru Outback. Even though it was familiar and meant to evoke comfort and a sense that he was just one of the guys, Killian could see now that it was all a ruse. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on the lug-soled boots and the creases in his khakis and flannel were ironed. There was a stone coldness in Hunter’s eyes he hadn’t seen before and Killian realized with complete certainty that he was going to die. 

Four goons lurked nearby and Hunter stood, motioning them forward. 

“It’s time.” 

He and Milah were separated, their hands retied before being dragged outside. The night was crisp and he found himself looking up at the stars and thinking of Emma. 

The future he’d been dreaming of was being ripped away and Killian couldn’t decide if it was better for her to find the ring buried in his sock drawer so she would know he’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with her or be none the wiser. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he was forced to his knees next to Milah on a large plastic tarp at the water’s edge. 

“Now remember, you have to get out of the Gulf and weigh them down so they don’t come back in with the current. There are pier blocks on the boat. Use the GPS and make sure you’re in Atlantic waters.” 

Instructions done, Hunter went silent and a bang broke the quiet, muffled by a silencer. Warm blood and God knows what else sprayed onto Killian’s face and Milah dropped to the ground next to him, shot execution-style in the back of the head. Hunter’s lackey stepped shifted behind him and Killian didn’t move as he addressed his Chief. 

“Wait! Hunter, you’re a fucking pussy.” Terrified his words would get him shot with no preamble, Killian was proud when his voice didn’t waver. “Too afraid to get your hands dirty? Have some actual blood on them instead of just pulling the strings? If you want me dead, at least have the balls to do it yourself.” 

With seconds left on his life, Killian was going to go out on his own terms. He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard shuffling behind his head and whispered to Emma under his breath as the barrel of a gun was pushed against the back of his head. 

_I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you._

A single shot and much like Felix and Gold, Hunter crumpled to the ground then all hell broke loose. Divers came up out of the water as a team in tactical gear advanced out of the shadows, all holding weapons and ordering the Dreamshade crew to the ground. He saw Robin wrestling the man he was sure had shot Milah to the ground and Will came up, first untying Killian’s hand, then checking her for a pulse and shaking his head. 

Looking around wildly, Killian didn’t see Emma until a slight officer in a black balaclava stood up from their vantage point on top of the shipping container and stripped the mask off. She looked haunted, the rifle in her hands trembling and he realized she’d been the one to take Hunter out. He ran, dodging screeching gang members handcuffed on the ground and by the time he reached her, she’d climbed down the side of the container. He barreled into her hard, arms circling her back and his head dropping onto her shoulder. 

“I love you so much.” 

Emma sank to the ground with him when his legs gave out, the adrenaline leaving his body. Overcome, Killian surveyed the scene in front of them, eyes coming to rest on Milah as Will covered her body, and started to shake. 

“Shh, my love. It’s over now.” Emma smoothed his hair and whispered into his ear, never letting up until he let out a breath, the worst of the shock passing. She helped him off the ground, ignoring his pleas to skip a stopover at the ambulance that had just pulled up, and held his hand as remnants of Milah were wiped off his face with a saline-soaked cloth. The separated only when ordered to do so, Emma leaving with Internal Affairs to give her account of the kill shot and Killian riding shotgun back to the precinct to be interviewed in the Commander’s car. 

**** 

Finished in an hour, Emma headed to the bullpen to offer her services and was unceremoniously kicked out by the rest of the team. Robin kissed her cheek and Will winked, teasing his partner about telling the Captain that Archer was moving in on his girl. Zelena, seeing Emma had no intention of leaving without Killian, produced a deep, emerald green throw blanket from the cavern of her workspace and set Emma up in his office on a makeshift couch fashioned from the two visitor’s chairs and told her to get some rest; that Captain Jones could be a while. 

Alone, Emma worked to clear her mind, letting the hum of activity outside the office fill the void. She already had an appointment the next day with Dr. Hopper and willed herself to save the spillover of all the emotions she had bubbling under the surface for then. She’d come so close to losing the man she loved, trading another’s life for Killian. Emma wanted to feel guilty for saving him and, in turn, saving herself but it wouldn’t come. Her eyes drooped as she pushed it all aside, her own surge of adrenaline long gone. 

**** 

The slightest touch on her cheek pulled her out of slumber and Emma flailed as her stretching legs kicked one of the chairs out from under her ass. Strong arms caught her before she could hit the floor but not quickly enough to keep a solid mass from toppling over onto her. 

“You’ve had better moves, Jones,” Emma huffed as she worked to untangle herself from chair and man. 

“Yes, well, you’ll have to forgive me, Swan.” He found his feet first and offered a hand, hauling her up to stand beside him. “The last twenty-four hours have been an unparalleled level of fucked up.” Yawning hugely, Killian’s hands scrubbed over his face and Emma stamped a boot impatiently, pulling on his wrists so she could survey his face. “Emma, love, I’m fine.” 

And maybe he was, at least on the outside. There were dark shadows under his eyes and the orbs themselves still held a touch of distress. She smoothed her fingers over his cheekbones and down his jaw, not stopping until her hands were pressed over his heart. The hot sting of tears hit suddenly and Emma’s nose wrinkled as she fought it back. Killian’s arms reached around her and she sank into him, chin tucked to her chest as she sobbed.

He held her until she sniffled then offered his shirttail in lieu of a tissue, which she declined with a horrified recoil. 

“Come on, love. Let’s go home. I need a shower and a no less than ten hours of sleep.” 

**** 

The shower had started off as a measure of necessity but the rhythm of the falling water had lulled him into a state where the moments he truly believed were his last played on a loop in his head. Emma had found him standing under chilled water after twenty minutes, staring at a fixed spot. Her clothes had been soaked the second she stepped in to wrap him in her arms, stroking his face until he came back to her. 

She was stretched out in their bed when he came out of the bathroom in a pair of boxers, water droplets still falling from his hair and, when he pulled the covers back, saw she was naked. 

“Gonna need a rain check on that forty-eight hours, Swan.” 

Rolling her eyes, Emma reached out to him. 

“One, why am I not surprised that despite everything that has happened, you and your dick still vividly recall our last phone conversation and have selected Option A for Ass. And two, this isn’t about sex.” She gestured to his underwear. “Drop ‘em and get in. Just you and me, skin to skin.” 

He’d heard of Kangaroo Care in passing; one of the beat officers bringing it up after his first baby had been born premature. At the time, Killian had appreciated the man’s dedication to sitting in the NICU shirtless, giving time, warmth and a little piece of his soul to new life brought into the world before its time, and hadn’t hesitated signing a request for time off to allow the officer to be with his family. But here, with Emma pressed against him from head to toe, he felt for himself the healing power of touch. 

Kissing the top of her head, he linked his fingers with hers, losing himself to sleep and the endless love he had for her.


	21. Chapter 21

The overhaul within the Bangor PD had been massive, no stone left unturned. A state-level task force came in to investigate and, within six months, had a laundry list of charges Chief Hunter would have faced had he lived. There was no limit to the evidence and files he had tampered with and no depths to which he wouldn’t sink to cover his tracks. Exhaustive interviews had weeded out those who were loyal to and aided him, and the departments were re-aligned for fresh eyes.

Killian was acting Chief after a leave of absence and getting cleared by an outside psychologist but declined the promotion to make it permanent. He rode a desk just about as much as he could stand as a Captain and couldn’t quell the blue in his blood enough to stay off the streets. 

At one point or another, Emma, Will and Robin had all been wooed by the feds, offered task force jobs and a chance to see the world. It was a hard pass for her; she had no intention of leaving Bangor PD, and the guys decided they made too good a team for them to bail on her. 

Tantamount in gathering information that shut Dreamshade down, they all received commendations, uniforming up for the ceremony and trying to keep a straight face when Killian pinned their medals on. He’d received a commendation as well but declined to publicly accept it, instead hanging it quietly among Liam’s awards and accolades as a testament to finally letting the original Captain Jones rest in peace. 

It was the day after he professionally thanked Emma for saving his life that Killian found her in the kitchen, smoke detector shrieking over her attempt to make him pancakes. She was pissed off and beautiful, and he dropped to his knees on that cold, hard tile and asked her to marry him. 

Robin served as best man only because Killian couldn’t handle the amount of debauchery and depravity a bachelor party planned by Will would bring. Regardless of titles, they both stood by him when he married Emma on the back patio of their home with the river as their backdrop, Deputy Nolan next to Emma on the other side. 

Later, when they were alone after copious amounts of dancing and champagne, Killian watched as his wife stood at the window, unpinning her hair from a complicated braid. The moonlight danced across her face and he thought about how far they’d come and everything they’d gone through to get to this place. 

“How’d I get so lucky, Mrs. Jones?” His fingers found the zipper of her simple wedding dress and pulled, the parting fabric revealing nothing but smooth skin to her waist as it slipped past her hips and pooled onto the floor. 

Emma turned and shot him as good a salacious grin as she could with bobby pins caught between her teeth. 

“I don’t know, Mr. Jones. Probably because you put out a lot.”

The pins scattered when she shrieked as he swooped in and caught her around the waist, tossing her onto the bed. Her bridal white panties joined his clothes on the floor as they came together in every single way that mattered.


End file.
